Bad Religion
by heythereanna
Summary: "She loves his smirk, that half moon grin that keeps her guessing. It's torturing her, these feelings that ball up in the pit of her stomach, because she knows what happens after that feeling. Hurt. Pain. Anger. Things that Brooke isn't prepared to feel just yet." AU Jax/Brooke
1. No One's Here To Sleep

She doesn't quite know how she wound up here.

Not here as in location, but here in her life, which is now an endless mess of drunken nights and hungover mornings strung together. The boundaries of day and night blur together, thanks to the vodka that she's become accustomed to and the weed that she now finds as the only thing that will calm her troubled mind. She likes to blame her parents for it, her lovely doting parents that just threw money at her and pretended that it was actually a gesture of affection, instead of the neglect that it really was. Maybe it was the fact that her supposed best friend and her ex-boyfriend were now living happily ever after together, complete with a fairytale wedding that she had avoided like the plague. Maybe it was the fact that she now knew that she would never be able to have the children she once so desired, her body even refusing to give her any happiness at all. Or maybe it was just because this was who she had destined herself to be with the first pull of tequila from a bottle stolen out of her mother's private stock, only at the ripe age of twelve then. Maybe it everything, maybe it was nothing at all.

But somehow, she had wound up here, geographically, at a dingy bar on the outskirts of Oakland, California, bitter with the hand she had been dealt and drunk off her very nice ass.

She had originally been living in Los Angeles, pursuing her very own fashion line. She had made it big, they all said, the next superstar of the fashion world, the prima donna of the ball. Finally she had something that was hers and hers alone, that she could look upon with pride and say, _I did this all by myself._ Until she allowed her mother into the company out of some sort of nepotism that she still didn't understand, simply craving something from her mother besides crude words and filthy insults. Her mother had finally looked at her with some semblance of love, with something that she had foolishly thought was some kind of faint adoration in her cold eyes. It wasn't, that was clear by the time she turned twenty two and her mother was telling her that she should just hand over things to her, let _her_ run the company. "_You're not smart enough for business, Brooke." _She had said with the fakest of smiles. "_Just draw your pretty little sketches, and I'll do everything else. Isn't that what you really want, sweetheart? To just have fun?"_

Oh yes, that was exactly what she had wanted, to be insulted for her past transgressions and the fact that her mind was more geared towards the creative side of things than the business. And so, belittled and verbally bludgeoned by her own mother, she had stepped down as the head of the company and had handed the reins over to her mother, if only to appease her, for a massive golden parachute that would never allow her feet to touch the ground, reducing herself to head designer instead of CEO. _Fine_, she had thought, _one less thing for me to worry about so I can focus on my designs._

Things were good for a few years, until having the business wasn't enough for Victoria anymore. No, she had to have every little piece of Brooke's hapinesss, to suck out all of the joy that had come from having something that she could call her own with her head held high. Her mother had begun to alter the designs, making them cheaper to create and less elegant, more cookie cutter. She had claimed that she was doing it for marketing purposes, for the stockholders, when Brooke had stormed into the offices, what were once hers, which she had once again innocently believed. How young and naïve she had been.

It wasn't until her mother told her that they were selling the company that Brooke realized she had allowed her own company to slip right through her fingers while she wasn't watching closely. Victoria had been embezzling cash from the business, cutting the quality of the materials down off of the book and stuffing her greedy little pockets full of crisp green dollar bills, and had lined up a buy to take what was now a shadow of the company it had once had been for far les than it was worth at the time of sale, just so she could get out quick. _"You'll still be a majority stock holder, Brooke. You'll still have a say in what happens to their company."_

She had sold all of her stock just two hours later, simply because of the fact that it was now called _their_ company, the business that she had built out of her high school apartment, the company that she had put every ounce of blood, sweat and tears into. It made her want to sob and scream at the same time, because it had truly been _hers_, a piece of her soul that she would never get back.

And so she drowned herself with strong drinks and reprehensible men, ones that she would have never even gone near if she were entirely herself. Men with leery gazes that used to make her skin crawl with disgust, with forceful hands that made her scrub her skin till it was raw the next morning, desperate to rid herself of the shame that was slowly seeping into her bones. And still, after a long day of reminding herself of everything that she had done wrong in her young twenty eight years of life, she slipped back into her old habits and allowed some man that she met in the bar to be drive her back to their hotel and take advantage of her. It was no longer the pretty life being the girl behind the red door, but the jaded wanderings of a lost cause. Yes, she had more money that she could ever want or deserve, but without a sense of even remotely knowing who she was anymore, there was no purpose. Brooke Davis is no longer the peppy, perky girl that she once had been. She's harder now than she had been before, cold and lifeless. She had been spiraling out of control, and there hadn't a soul in the world that could stop her.

And so she tilts back a shot of tequila at the dingy bar with the shady folk, trying to find some sort of middle ground where she can say, _"okay, this is where I belong". _Every bar she walks into is the same: dimly lit, faint music playing in the background, cheap drinks, and a pool table or two in the back But none feel like the Blue Post, the bar she had frequented when she had lived in Tree Hill. None have the sensation that she belongs there. But then again, she doesn't feel like she belongs anywhere anymore, like she's just fated to ramble along for the rest of her life, casually spending money here there until the well finally taps dry. She lives for that day, wondering what the beautiful Brooke Davis will be like without the piles of money to comfort her at night. Will she sleep with these disgusting men for money, then? Allow herself to completely circle the drain while on bended knees? She smirks at the thought, her own cynical voice popping into her head. _Oh, how the mighty have fallen._

But at least she has someone beside her, looking over at the redhead that was allowing herself to be felt up by some frat boy with a Backstreet Boy haircut. He was probably nineteen, maybe even twenty; Rachel had always like her meat young and fresh. She had fallen out of the shell game of life a year or two before Brooke, drowning herself in crank instead of alcohol after Victoria had fired her for showing up late for modeling shoots. Brooke had found her in her old apartment in Greenwich Village, half dead from a bad batch that was running through her veins. She wasn't such a fucking mess back then, she could actually take care of people, and so she got Rachel off of the needle and up on her feet. From the day she had stepped out of rehab, she hadn't left Brooke's side. Sure, they took off at the end of the night in opposite directions with their own men to forget about their problems, but they always circled back to each other the next morning. Rachel was the only constant in her life anymore.

Raye finally saunters over, a wily grin on her lips. "So I'm gonna take off with College Boy over there, cause apparently he's got an older woman complex. Some sort of abusive mother thing? Whatever it is, I'm diggin' it."

Brooke rolls her eyes, taking another shot as she rolls her head back against her shoulders.

"Don't wait up." She says with a wink and a pinch.

Brooke laughs, shaking her head. She never does. Rachel had always had a thing for playing with her meat before she devoured it whole. Some sort of carnivore thing, maybe.

She doesn't pay any mind to anyone around her until she knocks back a few more shot, till the room starts spinning and she's got some sort of hazy half moon smile on her lips. Her hazel eyes go cloudy and for the first time that day she feels better then when she got out of bed, her limbs feeling light and her morals loose. It's right about then that she feels the hot breath of a stranger on her neck, a feeling that's become more and more familiar with as the time passes.

"Why hello there, baby girl." The man says with a sleazy grin, his open palm creeping up her bare back, all the way up under her shirt to where her bra rests.

Part of her wants to vomit right then and there, but she pushes that aside and blames it on the alcohol, smiling sloppily back at him. "Hiya back." Brooke giggles out.

She lets him lead her out of the bar, the smile still on his lips as Brooke stumbles her way out of the bar, tripping over her own feet. She can barely see straight, but the giggles are still pouring from her lips as he pulls her towards his truck.

Sleazeball looks back at her over his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "C'mon, pretty girl, let's go have some fun."

Her stomach lurches up into her throat, and her hazel eyes go wide.

_Pretty girl._

Brooke stops in her tracks right then and there, tears forming as she pulls her arm back from him. "No." She says with new found strength, shaking her head. This is too much for her, too much to feel when she's just trying to be fucking numb tonight.

He looks like Lucas, at this moment. Then again everybody looks like Lucas when she's this drunk, when she just wants to be curled up in her broody boy's arms and forget about everything that's happened. But she knows she can't, because he's married to Peyton and she's too wrecked for him to want her anyway.

She shakes her head, as if to reset the etcha-sketch of her mind, and when she blinks, it's him again, but him looks a lot angrier than he was a few seconds before.

"I said, c'mon!" Sleazebag snarls at her, his hands yanking her forward and into his chest. "Show a guy a good time, sweetheart, and I won't hurt that nice face of yours."

Brooke spits in his face, her eyes wild with hate. "Fuck you, you son of a bi-"

_Crack_.

She can't even get the words out as the stranger's fist collides with the side of her face, knocking her onto the pavement. But it feels like it's into it, that's how hard he hits her. Brooke had never been smacked around before, not since her dad had slapped her around when she was a teen, and it was never with malice. But somehow, she knows what comes next in this awful scenario, unable to fight back.

"Nobody talks to me this way, you stupid whore." He hisses from above, picking her up as she groans.

He leans her against the car, and he has to hold her up by the front of her shirt just to get her to stand straight. She's so weak, that when the second punch collides with her cheek she can't even feel the snap of her eye socket breaking. With the third punch, which hits her directly in the stomach, her body collapses to the ground with a resounding thud, and when his foot collides with her chest, her eyes slip shut. She can feel the kicks and the stomps, and soon her body stops feeling everything.

"_Is this it?"_, she thinks to herself as she feels the tears seep from her eyes. _"Is this the end of it all?"_

Between the gore of his blows and the blood that stains her lips, Brooke Davis smiles at the thought of dying, and just lets go.

\- x – x – x – x – x – x –

He doesn't quite know how he wound up here.

Not geographically here, but just here, caught between his club and his boys. His before and after are beginning to blur together, and he's losing details of before every day. That's what he calls it in his journal now, when he talks about Tara dying. He just calls it before and tries to forget that he found his wife stabbed in the back of the neck with a meat fork, and calls what happens now after. He doesn't want his boys to read about their mother, not after everything that they've already been through. He can only imagine what the day he tells his boys that their mother was murdered in the kitchen that they sit and eat their breakfast in every morning, the looks of betrayal and disgust that will grace their little faces. Sure, Abel understands that his mommy is in heaven, but the gravity of her death still hasn't hit him yet. It's too much to understand, and that's perfectly fine with Jax. He'll wait as long as they need, till they come asking to know the truth. He can wait forever.

He had begun his path on the righteous course, trying to get the club out of the illegal activities that had become entwined with the core of who they were. He had just wanted to get out, to be a good father and a good husband, to live a normal life where his family wasn't in constant fear that he was going to get locked up at any second. But SAMCRO had pulled him back in, reeled him in like a fish hooked on a line, like some sort of bad religion that he clung to with all the faith in the world. And so, they had stayed. They had tried to make it all work, and for a while, it was okay.

But it seems like everything had really just gone to shit after Tara went inside, when she had finally gone somewhere that could make her pull far enough away from him, just far enough away that Jax was ready to just let go. And so he had found shelter in Collette, a woman that didn't require anything from him, that wasn't a daily reminder of all that he had put her through. There was so much that Tara had sacrificed for their life, that by the end of it there was nothing left for her and nothing that he could give her to make it better. At the end, she had just wanted their boys to have more options in life than becoming an outlaw. And he had been ready, ready to let them go and give them a better life, right up until he'd found her blood and cold as ice, with a dead cop right beside her.

And so Jax had been the man that he had once been determined not to be, and had gone to lock up angry and riddled with all of his past sins. It wasn't like he didn't deserve the suspicion that he had killed Tara and Roosevelt. He had killed countless men, brutally and maliciously, but it was the one time that he actually hadn't done the crime that he was in jail for. He'd darkly laughed about it in his cell for those two long weeks that he'd spent in Stockton, until they let the beast out of the cage, sending him running back into his already bloodied fighting ring.

There had been a time once where Jax hadn't allowed hate to rule his actions, when he had put his love for his family and his club before burning everything around him to the ground. He hadn't retaliated – very much, at least – when they had killed Tig in prison. He had been thankful, as Tig had been the person responsible for all of the wreckage that had occurred after Veronica Pope's death, one woman changing the fate of their club forever. If he hadn't been so reckless, they might not have even been in the mess that they had been thrust into while they were in Stockton. Jax and Clay had started the lie that would spur on Tig's foolish actions against the Niner's, yes. But it was Tig who had made his own grave, as well as the one that the charred body of his daughter was buried in.

So now he rides, rides endless and endless miles with Opie at his left hand and Chibs on his right. He had forgotten what it had felt like to just let his headers drown out all of the sounds, for the world around him to become paper cutouts along the way, for his body and his bike to become one with the pavement. It's the only feeling that keeps Jax breathing anymore, aside for revenge. He needs it, craves the feelings that will rush through him when he finally kills Tara's murderer. He's abandoned his young boys to find it, leaving them in Gemma and Wendy's care, and he's sure it's a decision he'll regret for the rest of his life, but it's the only one he feels he can choose. Anything else would just make him miss Tara even more.

They had decided to take a ride up to Oakland to visit Damon Pope, the black godfather of the inner city, and ask him some questions about Tara. Opie felt with an undeniable certainty that he was involved, and Jax had just gone along with it because it was another long ride through the night air. Chibs had driven the club's truck, just in case they needed to move a few bodies, and Opie and Jax had ridden out on their bikes. The meeting had been unsuccessful, with no appearance that black had been the ones to hurt Tara and no word from Pope on who had been involved, but the long miles from Charming had filled him up and made him feel like he could breathe easy, if only for a second or two.

It had been Chibs who had asked to stop for a beer on the way back, if only so he could use the john. Opie had gone in to grab them a few bottles of beer, and Jax had decided to stay outside. It's gorgeous out, the midnight winds just beginning to pick up, brushing away all of the bad thoughts that are entering his head. Had Pope killed Tara as some sort of retaliation? Or was it Lin, as Gemma claimed? Alvarez, maybe? His mind is an endless line of thrashing suspicions and lies, all pumped into him by the very woman who birthed him, and Jax can't even stop them anymore. He doesn't have the strength to.

He goes around the side of the building to have a smoke, pulling out his cigarettes and lighting up. He's trying to avoid the skanks that gather outside of the front, having no desire for women anymore. All Jax sees is Tara. In his dreams, in his house, in his fucking head. Her memory throttles him every second of his day, as if she's coming back from the grave to keep him from being with anyone else. He had loved her so fiercely, so deeply, and now she's just gone, leaving a massive hole in his life where she had been.

He tips his head back as the sweet scent of tobacco fills his senses, and he's so buzzed that he nearly trips over a rock on the ground. "Fuck." He mutters, shaking his head. Jax looks down, about to kick it out of the way in anger, when he notices his shoes feel damp.

Blood, and a fucking lot of it, covers his white Nikes head to toe. There's puddles of it all down the alley, like someone dragged a body nice and slow over the gravel. His curiosity gets the better of him, following it all the way down the path and into the back parking lot.

And that's when he sees her, and before he can even think he's fucking running towards her as fast as he can.

_Tara._

She looks like her, splayed across the asphalt like a broken angel. The blackish blood that pools around her head is a dark halo, the very blood that clings to the fabric of his jeans as he reaches her, kneeling right beside her as he feels for some sort of pulse, grabbing at her already bruised neck as helpless as a child.

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

He can feel her heart pulsating against her fingertips, and he starts yelling blood murder. "OPIE, GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!" Jax bellows, his hands cradling the poor woman's head as he tries to figure out what to do.

_"Tara would have known"_, his mind whispers to him, _"she would have known how to save her, but you let her fucking die, Jackson. All she wanted to do was love you, and you let someone fucking murder her."_

They're running out of the bar, Opie and Chibs. He can just barely see them coming up the alley as he tries to pull her limp body into his arms, blood slathering his shirt and cut in a bath of red. Jax can't even think straight with the voices in his head and the woman in his arms moaning in pain. Her face is a fucking mess, her entire body a chaotic war of bruises and gashes and broken bones, and all he can do is hoist her up into his burly arms as the guys run up to him.

"Jesus Chris, Jackie boy." Chibs manages to get out, his eyes filled with horror as he surveys her. "What happened?"  
"Get the truck open, now!" He yells as he staggers up the alley and to the truck. His troubled gait isn't because of the feather light woman in his arms, but because he can see Tara now, laying on the kitchen floor in a mess of her own blood with a few gaping holes in her skull. Jax feels the hate slipping in, clinging to him, sucking every ounce of strength that he's got left as Opie opens up the back door of the truck.

"Jax, what the fuck did you do?" Opie manages to get out as Jax hoists her body – because she's that far gone, that she's almost a goddamn corpse – into the back of the truck with him and lays her down on the backseat, her head in his lap as Op shuts the door behind him.

"I fucking found her like this, all beat up and shit. " Jax grunts out as Opie gets into the front seat. "Just fucking drive, Op."

He doesn't care about his bike being left here as they start the truck up and roar out of the parking lot. "Get to the clubhouse as fast as you can, Chibs can patch her up as best as he can."

Opie's yelling at him from the front seat, telling him that they have to take her to the emergency room, that the club doesn't need this heat right now, that Chibs can't handle it, and he just fucking explodes.

"Then I'll hire a fucking doctor to do whatever they need to do, but I'm not fucking leaving her!" He yells at the top of his lungs, tears filling his eyes. "I'm not letting another one die on me!"

It's an unspoken understanding between the two of them, two widowers, that saving her is some sort of penance for both being unable to save their own wives from the wreckage that was the club. Opie races to the club as fast as he can on four wheels, Chibs going even faster in front of them, and Jax just sits in the back seat holding her, brushing away the blood matted hair from her broken face.

_"Are you gonna let this one die too, Jackson? Like you did Tara?" _The voice in his head hisses.

Jax looks down at her, shaking his head, his words as silent as can be.

"Not this time."


	2. I Put A Spell On You

She doesn't know how she wound up here.

Brooke's eyes are foggy from some sort of opiate that been put into her system, the dull and pounding ache in her skull so much worse than her usual hangover. She finds that she can barely even move, her entire body feeling heavy, like the gravity that keeps her feet on the ground is pulling her deeper into the ground, all the way to its hot core. That's how her skin feels too, sparking like the flames of a blistering fire. It's like someone took a white hot poker to her tough exterior. It hurts to blink, it hurts to move, it hurts to even try to remember, but she somehow gets her eyes open enough to see the room around her.

It's not the hotel room that she and Rachel have been sharing in Oakland, the one with too much furniture and not a big enough mini bar. She can't see out of her left eye, but she's pretty sure with her right that the walls are beige, barely able to make out the Playboy posters that are splattered across them. Brooke brings her hand in front of her eyes, seeing the plaster cast around her left wrist and two of her fingers for the first time, and brings her fingertips to her face. Her skin burns with each touch, hissing in response and finding that when she speaks, her jaw gets the same feeling too.

What the fuck had happened to her?

She surveys the rest of the damage to her body as much as she can with her nearly blind vision. Her left knee is in a brace, swollen and barely movable as she struggles to sit up. Her left ankle looks bigger too, a large lump showing her that it's at least sprained if not broken. Her sides hurt when she breathes, which she's guessing means a few broken ribs, but she can't be sure. Everything hurts, and she has _never_ felt pain like this. Emotional? Yes. Physical? _Never._

Her cloudy vision finds a mirror on the wall, slowly moving her legs over the side of the bed with a cry of pain, her good hand resting against the bed and forcing her up. Brooke chokes back screams as she limps to it, sheer agony shooting up her bad leg and through her side. Three steps seem infinite, but she gets to it, and as soon as she looks up she wishes she hadn't.

She cries out in pain, but this time it _is_ emotional. Most of her face is swollen, and what's not is a shade of deep purple that speaks to her in volumes that she'll never understand. Brooke can barely look at the face that she once was told by every single man she had ever slept with was the beautiful thing they had ever seen, that was God's gift to the earth. It looks like someone took a baseball bat to her, and she can't even remember what fucking happened.

Tears seep from her eyes as she softly covers her lips, trying not to hurt her jaw anymore than it already is. She pulls back the sobs, resiliently looking back at the reflection in the mirror.

"_This is the person you've let yourself become, Brooke._" She thinks to herself, her one good hazel eye looking back at her and the rest of her swollen and broken body. _"You might as well have taken a bat to your own face."_

She tries to remember how she got like this, or even more importantly, how she got here. But no memories come to Brooke, which she's sure is from the trauma of what had happened. The last image in her shattered memory is the creep feeling her up at the bar, and then everything sort of disappears. Her head feels like a snowglobe that some six year old shook until everything was up in the air, and she doesn't quite know how to put it all back together.

She scans the room once more with what little vision she has. It's messy, but not the sloppy kind. It's more like an organized chaos of sorts, the kind that comes when you can't figure out where your life going so you just let it go. Brooke knows this mess; it's what her home in Los Angeles had looked like right before she'd taken off into the wind. It makes her smile softly, the familiarity giving her comfort.

The flash of nickel from the top of a surface just barely catches her eyes, and Brooke walks over to what appears to be a desk as slow as humanly possible – the pain is going to be there no matter what, but she's just trying to soften the blows. Her good hand reaches out for the metallic object, and when she touches it, she realizes exactly what it is.

A handgun, a handgun she knows for a fact is not hers, in an unfamiliar room with her broken bones, sits in her hands, and she comes to the absolute worst conclusion. She has been beaten, kidnapped by some criminal that was stupid enough to leave her alone in a room with a handgun. Plausible? Not exactly, but her mind is not in the best of shapes.

She nearly jumps five feet into the air as the door to her assumed prison opens wide, crying out in pain from her ribs as her hazel eyes immediately tear up from the massive amount of agony rushing through her skin.

"Oh fuck, I didn't know you were awake." The unseen stranger says in surprise, but Brooke can't see him. She can't even open her eyes, her hand instinctively grabbing the gun, wobbling as she brings it up.

"Hold on, this is _not_ what it looks like, I swear!"

Brooke finally opens up her eyes, getting a semi-good look at the person standing before her. Slicked back blonde hair and wild blue eyes greet her, and she has to admit, he's handsome, the kind of handsome that you notice the second you walk into a room. Brooke loses her train of thought for a split second, but she keeps the gun aimed at him, her small hands trembling.

"Where's Rachel?" She yells out, the adrenaline pumping through her veins giving her a little bit more confidence. "You won't get a dime out of me, that's for fucking sure, so you might as well just let me go now. You've done enough damage to me to earn more than a few bullets."

Handsome holds his hands up in surrender, shaking his head. "I sure as shit don't know who Rachel is, but I'm not the one who did this to you, lady."

"I'm in a place I don't know with a man who I have no recollection of, beaten to a pulp. I don't fucking believe that you weren't the one that did this to me!" Brooke cries out, shaking the gun forcefully with each word. It's unfamiliar in her hands. She doesn't know how to hold it in the menacing way that they do in the movies, but she's hoping that just the thought of getting shot will scare him enough.

He takes a step towards her, and she's so fucking scared that her hand clenches up automatically, forgetting for a moment that she's holding a gun in her hands.

_Pop._

She's surprised by how easily it goes off, that the gun doesn't jump back into her chest, but she's pretty surprised that it's even gone off in the first place, as her shot was not anticipated. Handsome is still standing, there's a bullet hole in the wall right beside him, and he's fucking _pissed_.

"Jesus fucking Christ, do you have any idea how close that was?!" Handsome hollers back, his blue eyes even more fearless than before. He hasn't even moved, his hands still firmly on either side his head, surrendering himself to her, and it's at that moment that Brooke actually sees his hands.

There's not an imperfection, not a single bruise, nothing. There's no familiar wear and tear of the skin that comes after giving the brutal beating like she's gotten, no scabs or split skin to show her otherwise.

"That's it, darlin'. Look at my hands." Handsome says softly, lowering them before her in defeat. "There ain't a single scratch on them, not one, and your wrist is the way it is because you tried to fight back."

He moves closer, and Brooke raises the gun again out of fear, her body still trembling as tears begin to pour out of her like rain. Handsome raises his hands once more, looking at her as if it physically pains him to see a woman this hurt.

"Darlin' I'm not the man who put hands on you." He murmurs, his hands dropping down and taking another step closer to her. "I was the one that found you."

Brooke looks into his eyes, the piercing blue almost swallowing her whole as she releases the gun, a broken sob escaping her lips as it drops to the floor.

"_I was the one that found you."_

The words ring out as she remember flashes of Handsome's face hovering above her, the immense pain that had spread throughout her body like a poison as his hands had cradled her head, the boom of his voice as it had cut through the air like a knife, shouting for help. The memories are as if she had been underwater the entire time, everything blurry and fuzzy and pieced together. But she remembers him, this stranger. She remembers being loaded into the car, and passing out with him stroking her face and screaming for the driver to go faster. She remembers it all.

"You saved me." Brooke whispers, and he's so close that she feels his breath on her lips. She can't see from the tears and the fact that her other eye is swollen to the size of a grapefruit. She looks up at him, a small smile on her lips. "My hero."

She collapses right then and there, her body giving way to the pain that stretches throughout it, because she can't believe that someone would actually save her, and he catches her effortlessly. She can feel him lift her up, setting her broken body back onto the bed and pulling the covers up over her shoulders, tucking her in like a small child. "You're gonna be just fine, darlin'." He whispers, and she feels him tuck a stray hair behind her ear, the feeling of his fingers just gently brushing against her forehead utterly divine. It's soft, gentle, and it's everything that she needs after her horrific beating.

All Brooke can do is murmur the two words over and over again that she would never be able to say enough to this man because he had saved her from herself.

"_Thank you, Handsome…thank you, thank you, thank you."_

\- x – x – x – x – x – x –

Jax sits with her for what feels like hours, nodding off a few times in the comfy armchair besides his mystery woman's bed. Chibs had cleaned her up real good when they'd brought her back last night, wiping off the blood from her many gashes and stitching up what cuts he could until the doctor had come in from Lodi. He was a friend of the club, essentially a mob doctor that they had hired now that Tara was gone. He wasn't as knowledgable as she had been, but he was good at what he did and that was enough for Jax.

He had laid her on the club table, an action which seemed so uncharacteristic of the club president that they had watched disappear before their very eyes. Jax had been human, staying beside the young woman's side the entire time that they had worked on her, making sure that she was somewhat comfortable and that she was as doped up as they could keep her.

_"She's been through enough, Charlie. Keep her down and let her stay asleep." _He had murmured as he had pushed the bloodied hair from her face once more, looking up at the doctor. _"She has to be okay."_

By the time the kid had finished up, his prognosis was more of a checklist than a diagnosis. She had three broken ribs, a dislocated right shoulder, a shattered left wrist, a badly dislocated knee, a fractured ankle and various internal bruising. In addition, she had two broken fingers, a broken eye socket, and a severe concussion.

_"To be honest, Jax, I'm gonna be really surprised if she wakes up from all of this. This kind of trauma...it's impossible to know what the damage will be. I've done as much as just about any doctor can, but it's all in her hands now."_

She had fought against her attacker, the doc had said. Her ripped off fingernails indicated that she had torn his skin up pretty good, until he knocked her out. She hadn't been raped, which had calmed him down a little bit, but she was in rough shape. The club didn't even know her name, and somehow the three men wound up staying with her all night. Jax had stayed the most, which Chibs and Opie found miraculous. He had been so disconnected from them, from any emotions that he had known before Tara had died. It was only when Chibs needed to check her stitches that he had left, trying to nab some shut eye in between, and when he had come back, she was just standing there like a deer in headlights.

"She's a fighter, that's for bloody sure."

Chib's voice drags Jax from his thoughts, looking up at the Scot with a small smile.

"What do you want to do here, Jackie?" He asks quietly, the two of them attempting not to wake her again. She'd had enough excitement for the day, they figured. "I mean, she really should be in a hospital. We aren't set up for injuries like hers, even with the kid fixing her up."

"I'm not taking her to the hospital." Jax protectively growls, shaking his head as his eyes turn to her. "You know what she said to me right before she passed out?"

Chibs shakes his low hanging head, unable to pull his eyes off of the battered woman.

"That I was her hero, Chibs." He laugh, softly enough so that she won't hear him, and turns his eyes back to his own bed. "She said that I had saved her, like I was some kind of knight in shining armor. Do you know how long it's been since someone actually believed that I was good for something other than being an outlaw? Even before Tara died..." Jax pauses, forcing back the venom that comes from his words. "She had lost faith in me, called me a monster."

"Jax..." Chibs places his hand on his shoulder. "You know I have your back a hundred percent. But I need to know if what we're getting ourselves into with this woman is worth it. We don't know who this gent is, if he's dangerous to us. The last thing this club needs is more heat."

"She calls me Handsome." Jax says with another soft smile, looking up at his right hand man as he passes over what his elder has said. "Called me it when she thanked me for what I did for her. Do you know how good that felt? To just do something that didn't push the club's agenda or get us some spare cash? We used to stand up for the little man. We used to be the good guys, remember that?" He gestures to the woman. "That's why she's worth it. Because she deserves a little help from the good guys after what happened to her."

Chibs nods, smiling down at him, clapping his hand against the younger's shoulder. "Then we treat her like she's one of our own, plain and simple. I'll have Opie pick up Lyla and bring her over. The little lady deserves a nurse to take care of her battle wounds."

Jax smiles, his hand patting Chibs reassuringly. He's always been like a father to him, the one that his father didn't live long enough to be and the one that Clay couldn't possibly fill.

But both of them jump out of their seats when a commotion begins to make its way through the clubhouse.

_"...get out of my fucking way, you son of a bitch! I"ll rip your goddamn eyes out if I have to, comprende, you stupid mother fucker? I know she's fucking here!"_

Jax barrels down the stairs, nearly busting out laughing as he sees Opie get shoved over a table by some red head who seems intent on getting upstairs. Happy's blocking the doorway as he and Chibs come through, and he looks at them with a shake of his head.

"Some dumbass bitch who thinks her friend is here. Did Opie fuck another porn star that I don't know about?" Happy asks bluntly, his arms folded across his chest.

Jax laughs darkly, shaking his head as he approaches the woman, who manages to get another shot in at Opie before he gets to her.

"Woah there, sweetheart. Your man ain't here, and you ain't gettin' up those stairs." Jax says with a lopsided grin, but the left hook that collides with his cheek sends him spitting with rage as he looks back up at her with pure violence in his eyes.

The redhead is dressed much like the woman upstairs had been, too classy for a town like Charming, but that doesn't make him want to rip her head off any less, but he holds his hand up to a rabid Opie, who looks like he's just aching for a fight.

"Listen, you dumbass ska-"

"No, _you_ listen, you greased up fuck." The redhead snarls, her finger in his face. "My friend disappeared last night, and the last person to see her at the bar said she got put into that ugly ass black pick up outside, license plate and everything. So unless you know where Brooke is, you better shut your fucking mouth and tell me where she is!"

"Rachel?"

The voice that comes from the staircase is quiet, barely audible, but it carries through the room like a knife through butter, stabbing Jax in the heart as he shuts his eyes, hanging his head.

The woman that they had picked up from the parking lot stands at the bottom of the staircase with Happy holding her up, and she leaves everyone in the room speechless, including Jax.

"I'm sorry, Jax. She said she'd start screaming if I didn't help her down, and I don't do catfights man." Happy struggles to explain himself, but his words fall upon deaf ears, because they're all looking at _her._

Brooke, if that was her name, leans generously against Happy, her eyes watering with pain. Her words from before hit him like a wall, instantly understanding that this is the person that Rachel has been searching for, because her friend has been searching for her too.

"Oh my god..." The words fall out of the redhead's mouth, the agony in her voice palpable as her eyes turn to Jax. Agony turns into blistering rage within seconds, and Opie just barely manages to grab her before she attempts to pounce at Jax.

_"I'll fucking kill you! I'll fucking slit your throat for what you did to her, you sack of shit!"_ Rachel howls, and Jax doesn't even pay her any mind.

He's too focused on Brooke, who stands there helplessly with all of her gore and glory, to defend himself against this woman. He walks to her, relieving Happy and allowing her to lean against him as Opie tries to calm Rachel down.

"I'm sorry, we though that she was looking for her old man or something, not..." Jax mumbles, unable to finish his sentence as her warm body presses into him willingly. He realizes that she has no strength left, that all of this is too much for her injured mind and body, but she had pushed through it to get down the staircase so that her friend didn't get hurt by any of them. She's just that loyal, that protective, and he finds it more than admirable.

"She can be..." Brooke pauses, mustering a crooked smile with her split lip. "Over protective. Don't take it personally."

"At least she didn't pull a gun on anyone." Jax grins back at her, his hand softly caressing her cheek as he pushes the ever wild stray strands of hair from her face, tucking them neatly behind her ear. The actions are so soft and so sweet that he can scarcely remember that these are his hands, that this is his body that is supporting her. The short moment doesn't go unnoticed by those in the room, and he doesn't give a damn.

By the time Rachel is calmed down, Brooke is leaning her head against his chest as Jax lays her down in his bed for the third time in a short twenty four hours, her eyes shut and her face as peaceful as he's seen her since the night before. She looks so incredibly beautiful just like this, marred and vulnerable, and he can't even imagine what she would look like in full force. A fucking knock out, he's sure, a goddess in her own right. He wishes he could've seen her like that, all beauty and no blood. Maybe, if she had just been any other woman who didn't need him, he wouldn't find looking at her so irresistible, like she was the gravity that continued to pull him towards her.

"How did she wind up here?" Rachel says quietly from the door, biting her lower lip.

Jax sits down beside her once more, regaining his position at her side in the armchair. He shrugs. "You're her friend. You should know more than I do."

"Don't be a fucking dick." She spits out venomously. "She's a big girl, she knows how to take care of herself. She knew I was a phone call away."

"Obviously she needed somebody there if she wound up like this alone." Jax shoots right back, smirking heavily. "Rachel, is it?"

She nods unable to look him in the eye. "And you're Jax. Opie told me everything."

"Well, _Rachel_." Jax mutters spitefully. "I found her in the back parking lot of the bar you two were at like this. Worse than this, actually. Some guy had roughed her up pretty good, we're not sure who. But I'm damn sure that we're gonna find out."

Rachel looks over at him, tears of shame glistening in her eyes. "There was a guy that was ogling her all night. Older, no tattoos, brown hair I think." She says quietly, shaking her head. "I was heading out with some guy when he moved over by her. I thought he was fine, I never thought he would do something like this."

"Cause strangers are so trustworthy, right?" Jax snaps.

"You obviously were."

The words set in between them as Rachel walks over to Brooke, reaching down and stroking her dark brown hair. There's a love between that even he can't even describe. They aren't friends, they family. Brooke was everything to this woman.

"You know a couple years ago, I was in a real shit place. Got expelled from school, cut off from my parents." Rachel murmurs, her fingers weaving around the bruised skin of Brooke's forehead, touching what little of porcelain there was. "I started shooting crank, went off the grid. Nobody came looking for me, except for her. She ripped me out of this hellhole in New York and sat with me through every single day of my withdrawal, like she was some fucking nurse or something, and when I came out of it she was there for me. When her life went to shit, I was there to be the emotional crutch that she needed. I just thought that the drinking, the aimless wandering, that it would help her get to the other side." The redhead pauses, shaking her head as she wipes the tears from her eyes. "No one has been this good to her in years, let alone it being a man. They've never been anything but bad for her."

Jax nods, leaning his elbows against his knees. He doesn't quite know what to say, his eyes lingering on Brooke, who moans softly in her sleep as she shifts in the bed. He doesn't know why he did all of this, why he went running to a woman he didn't even know and used everything in his power to keep her alive. Maybe it was Tara, speaking from the other side. Maybe it was just the urge to do something better for this world, instead of causing chaos and death wherever he went. Or maybe, just maybe, he was meant to. He had always been a believer in destiny, in fate. Maybe there was a reason that he had been right there at that moment.

"When you find the fucker that did this to her," Rachel pauses, steeling her gaze before looking up at him. "You tear him to pieces. Do you understand me?"

"Oh believe me. He'll wish he'd never been born." Jax murmurs, standing up and walking towards the door. "You can sit with her. The doc says she needs sleep, and she's safe here. I can arrange to have a couch set up for you, if you'd like."

Rachel nods, refusing to look at him. "She's all that I have, Jax."

He doesn't smile, he doesn't snap. He just stands somberly in the doorway, looking down at Brooke one last time.

"Then be more careful with her, for all of our sakes."

\- x – x – x – x – x – x –

She wakes in the room with the beige walls, which she's now understood is Jax's bedroom from the various people that call him that, with a little less pain than before. She surveys the sleeping bodies around her, all four of them. Rachel, sprawled out on the couch, snoring softly (thought she'd deny that till the day she died); Happy, if that was even his actual name, sit in a chair right in the doorframe in the most awkward position possible; the one with the long hair that Rachel was beating the shit out of, he lays on the floor between Rachel and the bed, as if somehow protecting her from her own best friend.

But as Brooke's eyes turn to the chair beside her bed, she realizes that Long Hair isn't protecting her, but Jax, who sits right beside her. His head rests on the side of the bed that's untouched, his hand gently holding her good one, his other underneath his head as if to cushion it. Long Hair sits between Rachel and Jax, an unwavering commitment to what seems to be a leader. She doesn't understand the dynamics of this home, from what the older man with the Scottish accent calls "the club", but she understands this, the undying loyalty between two friends. It was the same reason that Rachel, who normally refused to sleep on anything but a queen size bed, was on an uncomfortable couch just so she could be in the same room as Brooke. It wasn't just friendship.

It was family.

Brooke smiles weakly, barely able to do so, but she mentally grimaces through it. That's what all of this makes her do, all of these people surrounding her because of the fact that care about her. It's refreshing, and it makes her heart swell so big that she swears it might bust her ribs all over again. The hope, the immense admiration, the fact that finding this again was impossible, it all washes over her like a tsunami breaking into an earthquake. Tears leak from her wounded eyes, and her casted hand rests on her lips.

It all makes her smile.


	3. Take Me To Church

Church: a building used for public worship, regardless of denomination, race or gender.

To Brooke, that had always been the firm definition of it. It was where her mother would drag her on holidays when she needed to keep her perfect mask of happiness on. It was a hated place, a place where she was supposed to sit all prim and proper as if nothing was wrong in her life and sing along to the pretty hymns that she didn't know the meaning to. She hated the sermons, hated the fact that every time she was there she had to sit with Nathan Scott and act as if their implied betrothal (because to be quite honest, her mother didn't see anyone else in their "Podunk town" that was worth her beautiful daughter that she didn't have a care in the world for) was an act of God. It was the building that she and Peyton used to sneak behind, smoking Victoria's cigarettes and drinking malt liquor that they persuaded the college boys to buy. Her mother, on one of many her drinking sprees, used to say that it was the church that she'd marry Nathan as a virgin bride. She'd laugh, because it against the back of that very church that she'd let Owen Morello, the senior quarterback with abs of fucking steel, take her for the first time.

It had always been no wonder to her why her mother hit the fucking roof when she'd heard her precious Nathan married Haley James, who her mother called poor white trash. It had destroyed her perfect fantasy of what her daughter's future would be, a future which Victoria would later destroy anyway.

But now, as she lays on the long mahogany table with its beautiful etching stabbing into her back, church has taken on a whole new meaning, because apparently as Chibs, whose name she's picked up during the last week that she's been sleeping in Jax's room, and their in house doctor check her bandages, she's interrupting it.

"Can you be any fucking slower, dude?" Happy says from the doorway, unable to come into the room while they've got Brooke practically naked on the table.

This, of course, is something that she's come to learn was an order from Jax, who she's gathered runs this club of theirs. There are a lot of things that Brooke had observed over the last two weeks, like how Jax chain-smokes like a son of a bitch, or how everyone stiffens up whenever someone brings up the names Tara or Donna, or how they all seem to walk on eggshells around their fearless leader.

"Can you shut the fuck up, laddie?" Chibs growls back, shaking his head as he tends to Brooke's stitches. "You know, if it were up to these mongrels, they'd have stapled you up and called it a day. Charlie and I, we were the ones that stitched you up so pretty."

Brooke smiles weakly. "My body appreciates it, boys."

Charlie snorts as he slowly moves her ankle around, the pain just barely a twinge compared to how her ribs and knee feel. Chibs had told her that they would take the longest to heal, that they would ache and bite and snarl every so often as they did so.

"Your stitches are on their way to dissolving, Brooke. Most of them already have." Charlie surmises as he makes his way up her side. "Your cast on your wrist will have to stay for at least another week or so, your brace too. The last thing we want to do is let those loose before they're ready."

"How much longer?'

Her eyes dart to the door, where Jax now stands. He doesn't shy away from the room, as the rest of his underlings do. His blue eyes hover over her, dark and brooding, until they finally lock with hers. There is an unspoken bond between the two of them, between knight in tarnished armor and destroyed damsel. It's the smile that pulls at his lips that gives it away, the pride in her getting the better of her as she allows a small smirk to play on hers. Everyone can see it, this humanity that is slowly circling its way back into Jax's soul, and for that, they adore her. They wonder if maybe, just maybe, finding her near-dead in the parking lot was the best thing that ever happened to him.

They talk to her frankly, the kind of words that she had longed for when she had waltzed amongst socialites and rubbed elbows with the highest one percentage of the population. They are blunt, they are crass, and they are hers. They have welcomed her in, and if it were not for the fact that she now lays spread eagle with one ex-IRA medical man and an unlicensed doctor prodding her injuries, they probably would have had church around her.

"Am I interrupting something? Because you know, you could always drop me off at the hotel and Rachel can tend to my battle wounds." Brooke quips as she breaks his gaze, her eyes returning up to the ceiling.

He's at her side in an instant, looking down at her with a stare that is part rage, part admiration. "Is that what you really want?" Jax murmurs, his gaze fixated on her.

"I want to not feel like a pincushion for one fucking day." Brooke attempts to raise her cast to smack him with it, but Chibs holds it down.

"We're just about done, Jackie boy." The Scot says with a reassuring smile, and Jax nods in agreement.

He's gone before she can even get another shot in, and her hazel eyes are back up on the ceiling, flickering with too much emotion for her to put into words. She hates him, she adores him, she defies him, she has all the respect in the world for him. But he's complicated and twisty, just like her, and so they stick to witty banter while she's sober.

When he gets her to actually take her pain medication, it's a different story. He sits with her, he talks to her, and he opens up like a book just waiting to be read with the utmost ferocity. Jax does it because he thinks that she won't remember, but she does. He talks until he falls asleep in the chair beside her, and then when he wakes up, he just keeps talking. She is his priest, his confidant, and he is her mystery.

"All set, lassie."

Chibs pulls her from her angry glare as he helps her put her t-shirt back on, her hazel eyes turning to him with a little less spitfire. But he staggers back from her none the less, hands raised as he looks at Jax, the tension between them palpable.

"How about we leave you two alone, hmm?" The Scot says quietly, nodding to Charlie. It's not even a question, really. They just leave silently, Chibs shutting the large walnut double doors behind him as he leaves the two of them alone.

Brooke lies there for a moment, Jax standing at her side, until she finally grimaces her lips and starts to swing her legs over the side.

"Stop." The blonde asks, but at the same time doesn't ask. His words are more of a command to her now, an utterance of his power. "You'll hurt yourself."

But she doesn't listen, continuing to raise her body as she grabs her shorts, wiggling into them. "You don't control me."

Jax's hands are on her arms in a matter of seconds, holding her still as he looks deeply into her eyes. "Do you think that's what this is? Me needing to control you?"

"I'm not a club member, so don't treat me like one." Brooke says as she rips herself from his arms, hobbling towards the door. But she stops, her good hand pressed against the mahogany doors as she rests her forehead against it. She can't even look back at him; because she knows what that'll do to her, make her feel all the things she doesn't want to.

"Why am I still here, Jax? None of the other women have stayed, not even Opie's wife."

She can hear footsteps, unable to so much as turn around. She can hear them all the way up till his hands are on either side of her, calloused palms against her newly healed skin. It's not sexual, but tender, something that everyone tells her to be surprised by.

"Because I can't let you leave until I know that you're alright."

Brooke shivers, his breath warm against her exposed skin. She doesn't know how to take his words, but she just takes them how they are, nodding gently as she stops herself from leaning into him. She's not as battered as she once was, when it was okay to just shift her entire weight against him and just let him hold her. She can't find ways for it to just happen anymore.

"Can someone at least take me into town so I can get some clothes? Not that I don't mind wearing your shirts, but I figure you'd prefer me a bit more covered." She asks as she turns around, looking up at him with a soft smile, begging him with her eyes. Brooke's wardrobe has consisted of his shirts and shorts that Opie's wife had brought over her, shorts that are way to short to have on with a house full of men. Besides, she needs a break from all the testosterone.

Jax nods back, rubbing her arm gently. "I'll take you later."

"Not Opie?"

The longhaired friend of her rescuer had been ever present with the two of them, as if he had been scared that Brooke would do something to his precious best friend. She marvels at the fact that Opie thinks that she has that kind of power over him, but she can't say she minds it.

Jax shakes his head, sighing as his hand drops. "I'm trying to find a way to avoid my mom."

"Gemma?" Brooke asks with a raised eyebrow. She's hear stories of the fabled mother of Jax Teller, the woman who held the truth to every lie and who was rumored to be the toughest one in the club, the glue to their jagged pieces. She can't deny that she's intrigued by the idea of meeting his mother, who he seems to hold in such high regard.

"She's supposed to come back today from my grandpa's. I don't want her near you."

The look in his eyes changes, darkens like an incoming storm, and she can practically feel the history there. It reminds her of when she talks about Victoria, about her dad, and so she leaves it alone with a soft smile and a nod.

"You're not going to ask why?" Jax asks her, smirking down at her.

She loves his smirk, that half moon grin that keeps her guessing. It's torturing her, these feelings that ball up in the pit of her stomach, because she knows what happens after that feeling. Hurt. Pain. Anger. Things that Brooke isn't prepared to feel just yet, so she turns around and opens the door, allowing other eyes into the room.

"You're not the only one with a fucked up mom, Jax." Brooke sighs, staggering over to where Chibs sits. Every guy in the room is hollering at her to sit down, and she just flips them the bird and makes her makeshift doctor get her out of the room.

She can't be here. She can't be this close to him. She's not ready for it. She doesn't even have to say it to Chibs, who just nods and lets her shift her body weight against his tattooed body. She can feel Jax's warm stare on her the entire way up the stairs, and she can't even bring herself to look over at him.

She cares too much.

\- x – x – x – x – x – x –

He watches her walk all the way up the stairs, and he feels like a fucking idot the entire time. Jax watches Brooke stumble his way up the stairs, but she's the most graceful thing he's ever seen. His eyes stay on her like glue, unable to pull his gaze because she is just so fucking perfect that he can barely take it. But he can't, because it's wrong. His wife is dead, and he's not supposed to feel things like this. He can't even go near Colette anymore without feeling sick to his stomach, like there's a bowling ball in his gut. All he sees is Tara when he looks at the blonde, rearing with jealousy and anger, with every right in the world to be.

But when he looks at Brooke, he doesn't see that.

It's like he's coming up for fresh air.

"Freight train."

Opie's at his side, coughing out words so that the head of the club can stop staring at their tenant, by the time Brooke makes it to the top of the stairs.

"What?"

Opie takes a long drag from his cigarette, shaking his head. "That woman is a fucking freight train, Jax. Don't let her run you over when you're just getting back on your feet again."

It's poetic, and it makes Jax laugh, taking the cigarette from Opie's fingertips and pulling a drag from it. He shakes his head, giving it back to him.

"I'm just helping her out, Op. There's nothing there."

"I've known you since we were kids. There's something there."

"Can we not do this right now?"

It's a snap, a command, and Jax walks back to the table as if nothing at all has happened, taking his seat at the head of it. One by one, the men file in like soldiers to a commander and take their positions, and soon everyone is there. After Chibs walks back into the room, taking his seat at Jax's right hand and Opie at his left, the gavel is dropped and they begin.

They chit chat, they light their cigarettes, they get comfortable, and then the elephant in the room rides in.

"Where are we on finding him?"

Him does not need to be illustrated, or detailed, or even explained. They all know what they're talking about, and who they're supposed to be looking for. The man who had brutalized the only good person currently living in the club, the one who haunts Brooke's nightmares.

The man, who in Jax's opinion, needed to fucking die.

Happy sighs from across the table, shaking his head. "There hasn't been anybody in the bar, or at least that's what the skeezy bartender says."

"Pope says the Niner's have no idea who this fucker is. He's a goddamn ghost. They're keeping an eye out in Oakland, but Brooke wasn't exactly real great with the description." Opie says.

Jax's fist slamming against the table silences everyone, and his anger is palpable. It fills him like a poison at the sound of her name, the images of the night he found her shoving their way into his head. Jax can practically feel her in his arms, lying there with her face covered in blood. She's broken and battered in that moment, and he literally has to remember to breathe.

"She wasn't exactly able to see anything after he beat the shit out of her." Jax snarls, raking his fingers through his hair.

"We'll keep on it." Chibs promises, patting the table reassuringly.

The rest of the meeting is a blur to him. A head nod here, a grunt there; but Jax's mind isn't where it's supposed to be. This is club business, what's supposed to be the focus of everything for him. But his mind wanders to the girl upstairs, wondering what she's doing, wondering what being alone with her during the day will be like.

He can't get her out of his head, and he's not really sure he wants to.

"Jax?"

Opie pulls him once more from his thoughts, blinking slowly before nodding and slamming the gavel down. "Get me any information possible. And nobody tells Brooke that we're looking for him. She doesn't need anything else on her plate."

The club nods in agreement, a few slaps on his shoulders as they walk out of the room. Chibs, Opie, and Jax sit at the table alone by the time the president speaks again.

"I'm taking Brooke into Oakland to get her some clothes, I'll be gone a few hours tops. I need you two to run interference with Gemma."

"What exactly do you mean, Jackie?" Chibs asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Gemma does not get near Brooke. Understood?"

The two men nod as they get up from the table, leaving him alone at the head with his thoughts, which travel back to Brooke. He knows that he's said too much to her, that he's whispered too many unchecked thoughts to her in the night. Gemma was a force of nature, and not a kind one. She had done everything she possibly could to destroy what he had with Tara, and it had left him with his suspicions.

No one knew where Gemma had been when Tara was killed. No one had seen her. Not a single soul. And it was beginning to wear him down with haunting ideas of what could have happened.

Could it have been Gemma that had burst into their kitchen and stabbed Tara? Was she capable of that?

"Jax?"

He turned to her, finding Brooke leaning in the doorway in blue jeans and a faded t-shirt – one of his, he realizes, that she's tied up to be comfortable in. She's smiling, soft and sweet, and it's the one he really loves, the one that's just for him.

"You look beautiful." Jax murmurs, giving her a lopsided grin.

He swears it's the first time he's seen her blush as she waits for him to walk to her, his arm sliding around her waist to keep her stable. Brooke is quiet, so quiet as they walk to the truck that he stumbles along words just to get her to talk.

"Where…where do you want to go?"

Brooke pauses as he gets her to the door of the truck, looking up at him. "Do you really want to know?"

His brow furrows. "Absolutely."

Brooke's green eyes gaze up at him, flooding with unshed tears as she bitterly smiles. "I want to go to town and pretend that we're two normal people who just went for lunch and to go shopping. I want to feel normal, and tell people that I just took a tumble down the stairs, where you can joke with them about how I'm such a klutz. I want to pretend that I'm not the girl that nearly died and that you're not the president of the Sons of Anarchy."

Jax's arm curls tighter around her, bringing her closer to his body in an effort to suffocate her worries. He doesn't know how to make the emotions hurt less, how to make the pain ago, because he still hasn't figured out how to do it for himself. Silently, he releases her for a moment and shrugs off the leather vest the hugs his shoulders and tosses it in the backseat.

"Better?" He murmurs as he lifts her into the truck without another word, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

The smile that graces hers is all that he needs to know that it is.

x – x – x – x – x – x –

"So what's your story, sweetheart?"

They sit across from each other in a small diner in Oakland, waiting on overpriced burgers and fries with a small army of bags surrounding them – clothes that Brooke had intended to buy for herself, but couldn't stop Jax from shelling out the cash for. By the third store that he'd persuaded her to go into, she'd stopped putting up a fight and had grabbed a few things in his sizes just to spite him.

The waitress now stands at the side of the table, her head cocked to the side as she obviously checks out Jax, asking what their story is. After all, the biker in a big black truck with a woman with multiple casts around her body parts brings in the questions – and all the attention.

Brooke can't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the bleach blonde waitress, her lip curling into a smirk. She's about to open up her mouth and tell her to fuck off, when Jax speaks up.

"Oh, us?" He says with a wolfish grin as he turns his attention back to Brooke, as if expecting her to play along. "My girlfriend here took a spill down the staircase in our mansion back in Los Angeles. She's just such a klutz sometimes, but isn't she just the prettiest one?"

Brooke smirks heavily, batting her long eyelashes. "Oh honey, you're too cute. Isn't he just the cutest? He so is!" She says to the obviously disappointed waitress that soon disappears to grab their food.

She turns back to him with a grin, covering her mouth to hide the laughter escaping her lips. "The look on her face could've dropped Opie!" Brooke chokes out between giggles.

Jax smiles, letting out a laugh of his own, unable to hold it in as the waitress quickly drops off their food and scurries back into the kitchen.

Brooke chomps down on a fry and can't help the happiness that fills her heart – and it's not just the grease. He catches her gaze and tilts his head ever so slightly, trying to read her.

"I'd give anything to read your mind right now."

His confession makes her smile deepen, finding herself desperate to reach out for the hand that sits so comfortably on the table.

"I like seeing you like this." Brooke says softly, playing with her food.

"Broke from your expensive taste?" Jax jokes, tossing back a fry.

She laughs, shaking her head, and says the words that he'd never thought he'd hear again.

"I like seeing you happy, laughing and stuff. I don't think I've ever seen it."

He smiles softly, shaking his head before pushing her plate closer to her. "Eat." Jax commands teasingly, and the topic is settled.

They talk, _really_ talk as they sit in the little booth. He tells her about his dream for the club, the story of his father's letters and diaries and how John Teller had just gone a little too soon. He tells her how he never planned to be a criminal, how it just sort of happened along the way when he was a teen and he never looked back. She tells him about how she wound up in Oakland in the first place, the collapse of her company, the betrayals of her mother, how she and Rachel got stuck together. They bond over dramatic and controlling mothers, and Brooke muses whether her mother has even bothered to check in to see if her only child was alive. They find that they're much more alike that meets the eye.

Brooke buys lunch because the twenty three dollar check is the only thing Jax will allow her to spend her own money on, and they laugh as the waitress watches her hobble out of the restaurant leaning on him. Jax even goes as far as the wave after he lifts her into the truck, leaving her begging him to stop because her ribs hurt so much from it all.

They drive back to the sound of the radio, and Jax can barely keep his eyes on the road. She's beautiful, vulnerable in the shotgun seat of his truck with the wind blowing through her long waves of chestnut hair, her green eyes gleaming as she hums to the radio. He loves to watch her from the edge of his vision, see her lean her uninjured hand out the window and roll in with the wind. She looks free, unbridled and unburdened. Jax can only imagine what she'd be like on the back of a motorcycle, the wind blowing against her face and the world speeding by her. He resolves to get her out as soon as she's healed.

His smile immediately drops as he thinks of that, of a healed and complete Brooke. It's not because he doesn't want to see her whole again, but because of what it means. It means that she can go back to her life before all of this, before she'd gotten swept up in the knight in tarnished armor fantasy. He'd just be another guy to her, another bump along the way.

_She'll leave you. She'll figure out what a worthless piece of shit you are and leave you, just you wait. _The little voice in his head whispers.

His hand on the shifter clenches in response, finding his chest tighten at the thought.

He doesn't even notice Brooke looking over at him, watching him change from the careless man at lunch that was joking around with her to Jax Teller, tough on the heart thug.

"Hey." She whispers as her hand slips over his, her cast resting against his bare skin. "What's wrong?"

Jax shakes his head, pulling his hand away.

Just like that, he's back to being Jax, and she lets it go as she stares out the window, watching the approaching club. She can't help but wonder what Jax would be like if he wasn't in this life, if he'd had a shot at just being him, handsome and funny _him._ It breaks her heart a little, but she lets it go.

After all, she's not his keeper. Right?

Brooke breathes a sigh of relief as they pull up to the club and find Rachel waiting for them, in her trademark all black ensemble that she's grown accustomed to. Jax moves to help her out of the truck, but the ice cold stare that lands upon him lets him know that no, he does _not_ get to touch her. She knows that it pains him from the way his brow furrows, opening her own door and waiting for Rachel to help her get down.

"Thanks, Rach." She mumbles, her eyes skating away from Jax as he stalks back into the club, her shoulders sinking into her chest with each step.

The redhead's eyebrows knit together as Brooke works her way out of the truck, glancing between her and the blonde that fades in the distance. "Trouble in fucked up paradise?"

"Just quit it. Please. Just today." Brooke whispers as her arm wraps around her friend's shoulder for comfort, allowing herself to lean in as she struggles to keep her composure.

He'll be the ruin of her, she's convinced herself. Jax Teller will be the ruin of her, so it's better not to address the low hanging feelings that surround them both. So Brooke will let it go, just like she always does. He'll be yet another missed chance, and she'll just be a shadow in his rear view mirror.

She just had to actually convince herself of all of that, and they'll be good.

x – x – x – x – x – x –

_He's in a room filled with mirrors, each one showing her a different version of himself. Broken and battered with his dead wife in his arms, proud father with his sons, strong club president at the head of the table, willful teenager with too many questions for the world around him. He sees himself over and over again, each one a different image of who he is. Jax reaches out to them, the other versions of himself, but every time he gets close to one the mirror shatters, leaving him surrounded by fragments. He's trying to put all of the pieces back together but keeps getting cut by the shards, howling in pain as the glass slices his skin. When he breaks the last mirror, Tara is standing behind it, blood seeping from her skull with lifeless eyes and cold porcelain skin. But when he reaches for her, she disappears into ashes with his name on her lips._

"_Jax, baby, wake up!" _

_Her voice calls him from his dream, his blue eyes fluttering open to emerald green globes of light and dimples deepened by concern for his well being. Brooke is curled up against him, her tanned skin covered by an oversized button up, her fingers caressing his stubble. She is an angel in his arms, free from injuries and casts and everything that keeps her from being her. _

"_It was just a nightmare, honey." She whispers against his blonde locks as he curls into her, breathing a sigh of relief as he inhales her intoxicating scent of vanilla and honey. Her lips press to his forehead, and he is safe, he is safe in her arms._

"_I can't believe you're here…" Jax murmurs against her skin, his hands running up and underneath the fabric of his t-shirt that covers her voluptuous body. He needs her, craves her, desires her. She is his anchor to this reality, his beautiful savior, and her body answers to his touch gratefully._

"_I'm not going anywhere, baby." Brooke whispers into his ear._

_He loses all self-control as he rolls on top of her, invading what space had been between them as he tangles his hands into her hair, pulling her into him._

"_I need you, Brooke…" Jax nearly sobs against her lips, and she welcomes his kiss, his hands skating over his bare back, holding him close to her._

"_I'm yours."_

_His lips are pressed against hers, breathing her in and enveloping her warmth. She is fire, destroying him and putting him back together again all at once as her legs wrap around his body. His hands greedily pull the shirt over her head, breaking their kiss before he dives back into her, her chest pressed to his as she pushes his boxers down. He needs her, needs to get lost in her, and she is more than welcoming as he thrusts himself deep within her. A strangled moan escapes his lips as he fills her, the sound of his name falling off of her lips nearly sending him over the edge. He eases in and out of her, their movements rhythmic as she writhes beneath him. They are one, falling and rising together as she cries out for him. He's so close to finding it, to finding that moment where his world begins and ends with her, and pulls back to look into Brooke's eyes._

_But the woman beneath him is no longer Brooke but Tara, emotionless and out of love, and Jax finds himself halfway across the room before he can even get words out. Brooke now lays sleeping beside Tara, her casts and injuries back in the places they used to be._

"_You destroyed me, and that's what you'll do to her. You'll destroy her, Jax." Tara whispers, pushing a stray hair from Brooke's sleeping face. She looks somber, wistful, even protective. _

"_She's different." Jax chokes out, shaking his head as tears fill his eyes. "I can protect her."_

"_You thought you could protect me, Jackson. And now, she's going to wind up just like me."_

_His wife hovers over Brooke, and he's not fast enough to stop her as she raises her hand with the same meat fork that had been shoved in her skull._

"Jax, wake up! Wake up!"

He wakes to the sound of Brooke's voice, tearful and strained as his eyes open. He must have fallen asleep beside her again, his hand clutching her cast so tightly that he's surprised he hasn't broken it. She's looking up at him, her good hand shaking him awake as he gasps for air.

Jax's eyes finally meet hers, frantic and scared out of mind. "I'm – I'm sorry." He pants out, releasing her cast and raising his hands back, much like the time that she had woken up.

But she's reaching for him, her good hand taking his and pulling him back to the bed. "You were calling her name. Tara." Brooke whispers as he sits down on the side of the bed, her grip surprisingly strong.

He sighs, shaking his head. "I'm sorry that I woke you, you need your—"

"Fuck, Jax, just talk to me." Brooke snaps. "There's no one else here, I don't need to be drugged up for you to talk about her."

Jax pauses, unsure of the right words to say. She catches him off guard, just like she always does.

"Do you really need me to take an oxy just so you can talk to me?" She mumbles, releasing his hand and falling back against the bed. "And here I thought we wer—"

"Tara was my wife. She was murdered in our kitchen, and I was the one that found her body." Jax hoarsely whispers, looking straight at her. "And I think my mother, Gemma, may have been the one that killed her."

Silence hits them like a roadblock, and now she's the one that's lost for words. Sure, Victoria was bad, destroying companies bad, but not _murder_ bad. That was a new one for her, even with her bat shit crazy mother.

"That's why you wanted to be out of the club today." Brooke murmurs, her hand back on his as she sits back up. "You wanted to get away from Gemma. You wanted to keep her away from…"

"You." Jax answers the unspoken question as his eyes darken, fogged heavily by the suspicions that torture him when no one's looking.

She wants to reach out to him, to smooth the wrinkles that form on his forehead with her fingertips, to take away the pain. But Brooke doesn't know how, doesn't know where the boundaries begin and where they end. Some moments, he's the man that scooped her up bloodied in a parking lot and saved her life. Others, he's dark and locked in his own mind, and she doesn't know where the keys are. He's so mercurial, moody as all hell, and she doesn't know where she stands.

"Lay with me."

The words fall from her lips before she can even stop them, before her senses can get the better of her. It's the only thing that she can think of to make him better, to make him feel a little less alone. His response is a little less startled than she'd have thought it would be, blue eyes shifting back and forth as he tries to make a decision.

"I don't have the nightmares when you're here, Jax." Brooke mumbles, trying to find a reason other than just wanting to be near him. They both know it's bullshit, that she doesn't dream like he does, but it's for him, not her.

Jax carefully lays down beside her, cautious in his movements. His hand rests on her hip as he slides the other underneath her head. He can't remember the last time that he laid with someone like this, probably before Tara had gone into prison. Brooke snuggles closer to him, his back pressed to her front as her hand closes around his.

It feels good, her warm body pressed against his, and he doesn't feel so troubled when he's beside her like this.

He feels at home.


	4. God's Gonna Cut You Down

When she wakes, Brooke is warm - too warm, the kind of warm that happens when the blanket's been tucked into the bed frame too tight and can't get any air in. She feels for a moment that she's being suffocated, that she can't breathe, her hands immediately swatting at whatever is too tight around her. She, who had slept alone for so many years, doesn't know what she's feeling as she fumbles with the heavy object on top of her ribs, only understanding it when she opens up her hazel eyes to find him beside her.

Or really, surrounding her. At that moment, Jax is the vine and Brooke is an old Victorian home, his body wrapped around her in every way possible. His lips are pressed into the back of her hair, his strong and muscular arm wrapped around her petite waist, and the other lays beneath her head as some sort of makeshift prop beneath her pillow. Jax is completely and utterly tethered to her in that moment as she quietly rolls over in his arms and drinks him in.

His brow, for the first time in the short span of time they've known each other, is unfurrowed and unwrinkled, smoothed by his deep slumber. His lips now graze her forehead as she gazes upon him, her small hand reaching up and stroking the rough stubble that covers his cheeks. He's handsome, the kind of handsome that could stop you in the street if you were actually paying attention, and he's so completely serene as they lay in each other's arms that she wonders when he was this peaceful before this moment. Had it been with Tara, when he would fall asleep with her in his arms and their world complete? Had it been that long since the man that lays before her had gotten a decent night of sleep? Brooke can't help but feel pride surge through her, that her touch had been gentle enough to make him look as he does, an utterly unburdened man stripped bare before her eyes.

She longs to wake him, to she him give her the half moon grin that she's become such a junkie for, to snuggle deeper into his chest and just breathe in his scent. During the day, it's a combination of cigarette smoke and bike grease, and even then Brooke can't get enough of it - but now, there's a lingering scent of cinnamon from the whiskey he had drank the night prior, and fresh air from the window that he'd cracked open at some point during the night. She wonders how long they can lay like this, with her watching him sleep so soundly. It's a sight that so rare that she feels as if she's discovered a new country right here in his bedroom.

But Brooke can feel the chaos creeping in, literally hear it as someone starts yelling downstairs - one is a familiar voice, Rachel howling at the top of her lungs, but the other is unfamiliar, filled with rage. There's a thundering beneath them, and before she can even say anything, Jax's blue eyes shoot open and his body is rising from the bed, immediately into fight or flight mode. Had he learned that over time, or had he just been born to jump to attention whenever the situation demanded it?

"How long has that been going on?" He asks her as he throws on a shirt, almost accusingly so, as if she had been keeping him from whatever impending doom had amassed beneath them.

Brooke shrugs carelessly, sitting up in the bed as she hears something like a chair breaking. "It just started, I was about to wake you bu-"

"Whatever happens, you stay in that bed until I come through that door. You understand me?" Jax growls as he looks down at her darkly, pointing to where she lays in the sheets.

She's about to say yes, to be fine with him being all growly and possessively protective - she finds it pretty hot that he's telling her to stay in his bed until he comes and find her, her mind instantly moving to certain fantasies that have played in her head during the midnight hours - when she hears a gunshot crack through the tornado beneath them directly before someone starts screaming bloody murder, and then all of their collective thinking goes out the window when she jumps out of the bed

They both go running down the stairs, Jax scolding Brooke for not being more careful on her injured knee the whole way and her snapping at him to fuck off as they come barreling into the lower level, finding Rachel hiding behind the bar and howling for dear life at the top of her lungs.

"She fucking shot at me! The crazy bitch shot at me because I told her she couldn't go upstairs!" Rachel hisses menacingly, the brunette hurriedly walking over to her side as Jax heads to the other party. "Fucking old bat!"

Across from them, an older woman with long graying curls holds a handgun in her shaky grip, screaming at Jax about how this is her house and no one can tell her where and when she can go somewhere, or who she can even see. He's trying to calm her down, ripping the gun from her hands and shoving it into the waistband of his jeans as he attempts to soothe the monstrosity, when Brooke hears him say it.

"Jesus fuck, Gemma! You can't just shoot someone because they won't let you into my room!"

_Gemma_.

Jax's mother stands across from her, wild eyed and shoving her son with her tiny ineffectual fists, reckless in her behavior. She is a hurricane, violently thrashing about in their shared space as he tries to get a handle on the situation, a hideously powerful force of nature that Brooke is sure she'll come to blows with before the day is done. She's cursing so loudly that it would make a sailor blush as Jax tries to restrain her, until the two women lock eyes.

_"I'm trying to find a way to avoid my mom."_

_"I think my mother, Gemma, might have killed my wife."_

_"I don't want her near you."_

Brooke can barely breathe as the woman across from her stares at her, evaluating her with nothing short of jealous rage as Jax stands between them. He is her bodyguard in that moment, keeping her safe from Gemma as he steps in front of her gaze. His hands are on her arms, keeping her from scrutinizing her any longer. He doesn't turn, doesn't tell her to get the hell out, simply standing between them.

Her face gaunt and filled with worry, she watches the two of them, sees the two Teller's come to verbally abusive blows. She's not once seen Jax this livid, where he's almost shaking with anger. His voice is no longer a yell but a roar, the kind of volume that hold true weight behind it, where it does more damage than any punch he could've thrown.

Rachel's pale, too pale for her liking as Brooke presses another bar rag against her forehead, trying to calm her down, unsure of what to do as Jax begins a screaming match with his mother. Cold sweat covers her dearest friend, and she knows the signs of shock when she sees it. They've been in too many fights, too many unsure situations such as this for her not to know.

"We shouldn't be here, Brooke." The redhead murmurs unsteadily as she looks down at her hand, swaying ever so slightly. Brooke's eyes follow her gaze, and her face goes pale in horror as she sees what Rachel has spotted. Thick dark blood, and a decent amount of it, pours from Rachel's lower left side, and the blossoming spot on her shirt forces her into the realizations that it's far too much for anyone here to patch her up.

"Jesus fuck, Rachel. Why didn't you say anything!" She chastises as the Rachel sinks into her arms, Brooke's eyes wide with fear as she looks to Jax for help, finding him fighting with Gemma. "Jax!" She yells, but her words go unheard, bouncing off their screaming. Brooke can't move, suddenly frozen. She doesn't know what do to, how to do it, if she even can go to a hospital without getting everyone in some kind of trouble - but at this point, she doesn't care if she does. When it comes to fight or flight, Brooke knows to run like hell.

Like an answer to her prayers, Chibs comes running in the side door from the shop, reaching for the gun holstered at his side. It's not until he and Brooke make eye contact, when he sees the mix of guilt and shame in her eyes, that he knows that the blood that covers her hands isn't her's. His reaction visibly relaxes, and the Scotsman is at her their side in mere seconds. "What the hell happened here?"

"We need to get to the hospital, Chibs. There's too much blood, too much...just too much." Brooke whispers breathlessly, and she follows his lead as Chibs picks Rachel up and carries her shaking best friend to the club's back door. They don't have time to sit around for the club doctor from two towns over, and she can see that he has no way to fix it on his own.

She looks back when they reach the door, Jax completely and utterly oblivious to what's going on as they bicker like an old married couple. She doesn't want to leave him, every fiber of her being pulling her to him like gravity. But this is Rachel, this is family. Jax can handle himself. After all, he's not her's, not by a long shot.

He's Tara's. He's Gemma's. He's the club's.

He's _anything_ but her's.

Brooke runs out the door to the SUV, and this time, she doesn't bother looking back.

\- x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x -

"...no one is going to tell me when I can go up see my son, definitely not some ginger bread tramp tending bar!" Gemma screams at him, her bony finger right up in his face. She loves to do this, to really bug the shit out of him when he just wants her to walk out the door and never come back. His mom's specialty is pushing buttons, and she knows the location of every one of his.

"You have no mother fucking right to do this, Gemma." Jax snarls at her, barely able to keep his composure.

He wants to kill her. He wants to pull the twenty two from the waistband of his pants, and shoot her right here and now. Put her out of the misery that she demands everyone else be in with her, put her down like the rabid animal that she's become. Maybe it's because she doesn't have Clay to beat on anymore, to take her wrath and insanity. Jax doesn't know, but he's so tired of her and all her shit that he just wants to give it up. For a moment, he even wonders if he should've let Clay kill her when he'd beaten her half to shit.

"She told me I couldn't see my son, who I found out hasn't been home to see his own children in over two weeks. 'Scuse me for fuckin' worrying about you."

The mention of Abel and Thomas makes his blood boil, blue eyes suddenly filled with nothing short of madness. "My children are _none_ of your concern."

"And apparently they aren't yours either."

"You watch your fucking mouth!" Jax yells at the top of his lungs right at her, the chains dangerously loosening on his temper.

She doesn't even flinch, the tough old broad that she is. She's always been this way, this invincible woman, and he's grown tired of it. "You know that Thomas and Abel ask about you every day, while you're here bangin' some brown haired hussy that looks an awful lot like your dead wife."

His hand is around her neck, slamming her into the wall before he can even stop himself. Jax's grip tightens around her leathery skin, barely able to stop himself from breaking her neck. He's so close to the edge, so close that he can taste it. "You don't know shit about her, and don't you get within two fucking feet of my children again." He seethes through gritted teeth, tempted to choke her out right then and there. "Or I will put a bullet right between your eyes just for what I _think_ you did to Tara."

She's gasping for air, struggling against his hands and slamming her fists against his chest. Jax doesn't even know how to stop, or if he will. He can't pull himself back anymore, not after all of the shit that's happened to him. There's too much darkness, the pitch black shade of his life threatening to swallow him up whole and never let him go back.

Until he hears the squeal of tires in the parking lot.

It's then that his head whips around to just barely see the club's truck skidding out onto the street, his hands dropping from her neck as he goes sprinting out the door of the clubhouse and watches the only thing keeping him from truly hurting someone sitting in the back seat. He can still hear her shrieking at whoever's driving, smell the burning rubber as his hands go to the top of his head.

It's then that he sees the blood, splotches of it staining the pavement. Then that he realizes that Brooke and Rachel are gone, that Chibs isn't in the shop anymore, and that he's majorly fucked up this time.

"Jesus fucking Christ." He mutters to no one other than himself as his mother goes running out the front door in a fit of coughing, and he doesn't even bother to go after her. For now, he has bigger issues than a worn out woman on a murder spree.

\- x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x -

"I'm not blaming you, but this really fucking sucks." Rachel chokes out, her teeth clenched tight while a nurse puts an IV in her arm. She's never been one for needles, Brooke remembers as she holds her hand tightly, letting her squeeze the ever loving hell out of it until the line is in.

They're in the emergency room of Charming Presbyterian, despite every single one of Chibs' objections to it. Jax would be pissed, someone would ask questions, the police would have to be called. There were so many reasons why they should've have come there, but there was just too much blood, so much of it and Brooke didn't know where else to go. She'd screamed at him until he finally turned towards the hospital, and Chibs had carried Rachel all the way in to the gurney. He's a gentleman that way, she thinks, and she's so grateful for his help that she can't even find the words.

Brooke nods, a small smile on her lips as she smooths her free hand over the top of Rachel's head. It's so rare to see her like this, to see her as anything other than the take-no-prisoner's no-nonsense woman that Brooke has known her as. Rachel's tough as nails, and seeing her like this reminds Brooke of where they actually are.

This isn't home. This isn't safe. Not by a long shot.

"These doctors are going to take really good care of you, Rachel." She murmurs as soothingly as she can, her fingers deftly smoothing her friend's forehead, which is so screwed up in pain that it looks like she's ninety seven. "Quit doing that with your face. You'll get wrinkles."

"Fuck you, you old slut."

"At least I'll be an old slut with nice skin." Brooke says with a small laugh.

"Miss Davis, we're going to have to take her to surgery. We need you to leave the room so we can get her up to the operating room."

"Brooke, this isn't going to be pretty. The bullet's not through and through." Chibs murmurs. The words that he wants to say go unsaid, because Brooke already knows: they can't help Rachel and keep Brooke calm. They need to be able to work, to fix her without her getting in the way. And so she nods before pressing a soft kiss to Rachel's forehead, smiling as she looks down at her.

"You just yell and I'll come running, okay?" Brooke says softly, running her fingers through her friend's hair before taking another step backwards, turning to a nearby nurse. "She's going to refuse pain medication, she's allergic to penicillin and aspirin, and I get informed every hour. If you think that I'm bad now, try keeping me out of the loop."

The nurse nods as she hangs a bag of fluids, the understanding of how crazy she would be there in the woman's eyes.

She watches as Rachel nods slowly, the pain kicking in with a loud groan as Brooke moves to the doorway, a silent promise between the two of them as Chibs takes her arm, leading her out. She's kicking herself for not noticing it sooner, for missing something that could potentially kill Rachel if they weren't careful. They were supposed to take care of each other, and Brooke feels like a complete and utter failure.

"She's going to be fine, lass." The Scot murmurs against her hair as she leans against him. "She's one tough broad, that girl. Refusing pain meds? That's ballsy."

"She's a drug addict in recovery, she knows better." Brooke murmurs as she leans into him heavily, her knee practically howling in pain as she limps over to the chair that Chibs leads her to, collapsing into the seat.

"That's it, love. Jus' have a little sit with me."

But she can't just sit, not with how she's feeling, with the anger that's seeping from her pores like a hangover she can't sweat out. She's so goddamn angry at Jax that she could scream, all memory of their morning together utterly destroyed in the wake of all of this. He should have turned around, he should've fucking listened and then maybe they could've just called the doctor, not wound up in the hospital.

"Brooke?"

"Hmm?" She answers, her hands running through her long locks. She feels exhausted, drained from the events, but she can't close her eyes just yet.

Chibs shifts behind her, his arm wrapped around her chair. He's still holding her hand, perhaps to keep her calm or to keep her from forcing her into the operating room with Rachel, of which she's not sure. "I was sayin' that we should get your knee looked at while we're here. Get an MRI to be safe, since you were movin' around a bit too much for my liking."

"You'll do that?" Brooke asks with a raised eyebrow, surprised to say the least.

"Not for me, they won't. But for you?" He scoffs with a grin, reaching out and stroking her cheek gently. His touch, soft and kind, comforts her like a warm blanket. "That gorgeous masterpiece of a face could move mountains, Brookie. Make the devil cry for salvation, even."

Brooke shakes her head, letting out a soft laugh. "You're pretty charming when you want to be, Chibs."

"That's what they tell me, lassie."

She allows him to help her limp over to the desk, calmly explaining to the nurse that she'd taken a spill while getting her friend in on an already injured knee, telling the woman her name - well, at least her first name - and other various information. Chibs gives her his last name at the last minute, seeing her panic when she's about to give her own last name, becoming Brooke Telford as she smiles and plays into it. The nurse raises her eyebrows at the lie, about to question where the cast was from, when a wave of recognition hits her face.

"You sure look a lot like that woman from Clothes Over Bro's that went missing."

Brooke's face pales at the sound of her own name in association with her old company, but she does what needs to be done.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not her. My father here can tell you that. I just lost track of my ID in all of the craziness. Shootings and all, we're not really used to that sort of thing." She lies weakly, casually glancing over at Chibs as he stands beside her. She's grateful for the support, but that doesn't stop worry from seeping into her bones as the nurse formally checks her in.

She knows what someone just _saying_ her old name means, what being on the patient list of this hospital under an alias is going to bring to Charming. She and Rachel had known that they couldn't outrun it forever, the fame and the cameras and the weight of the world. Maybe she's known since the night that Jax had found her, that their running wouldn't last much longer.

As they lead Brooke back to the exam room, Chibs following her like the loyal friend that he is, she knows that Charming will never be the same after this, and she's not sure if she's ready for it.

"Brookie, you're white as a ghost. Y'sure you're alright?"

Chibs' voice drags her from her thoughts for a moment, unable to find the right words to express how she's feeling. She wants to tell him how sorry she is for what's coming, that it's all because of her, but she doesn't. Brooke manages to get a few words out, asking Chibs to grab her make up and the new clothing that Jax had bought her and to come straight back here, that she just needs something decent beside Jax's t-shirt and shorts. He doesn't ask questions, something that she's sure is due to Jax's usual behavior of not wanting people to ask him for explanations, and he's gone after pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head.

And then she sees him.

Jax barrels into the emergency room waiting area from the doors on the opposite side of the building from Chibs, barely visible to her as she walks away from him, her pale expression turning to ice as she does. Brooke should've known that he would show up, that he would be concerned after seeing the blood in the clubhouse. But Brooke just keeps walking to the exam room as she hears him demand to know where she and Rachel are, suddenly feeling like this is her death march.

Maybe because for her, it is. Or maybe it's just the death of her and Jax. She's not sure, but the pain that sets in tells her that no matter what, it's really going to hurt.

\- x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x -

"If you don't tell me where she is, I swear to God..."

"Mr. Teller, if you don't calm down I'll be forced to call the sheriff's department!"

Jax is frantic as he stands at the visitor's desk of the emergency room, slamming his palms against the counter as he tries to keep himself in check. The last time he was here...it had been Tara, identifying her body for the second time in the morgue on the lowest level. Maybe that's why he's so upset, pacing back and forth as he tries to calm himself down, the nurses eyeing him warily. All they're willing to tell him is that Brooke Telford has been taken to an exam room, while one Rachel Gattina is being prepped for surgery to have her bullet wound treated.

He's not surprised that Chibs had given Brooke his last name, given the secrecy that she'd had with him. It had been a miracle that she had opened up to Jax as much as she had. He feels awful, like there's an elephant sitting on his chest as he tries to remember how to breathe evenly. The entire time that he's known Brooke, he's never not known where she was, not been within a floor of her. He's always close to her, always within reach, and to be away from the woman that he's grown to care for, it's the most painful thing he's felt in a long time. Jax wants to rip open every door, howl out her name like it's a sacred prayer, search every single inch of this place until he finds her. Even if it means just standing in the room while they check her over, he doesn't care. He just needs to be near her, and he feels like a fucking idiot for not listening to her when she'd been screaming his name.

He can hear it now, the jagged cry that had escaped her lips while he had been dealing with his mother, no longer blocking everything else out on a hunt for information on how his wife had died. It nearly shatters what little of a heart he has left as he paces back and forth, every single person in the waiting room watching him as he does so. He's an asshole, a fucking self centered prick, and he wants to apologize with all of his might. He wants to go back in time and never get out of bed with her. He wants to be back under the covers, Brooke's warm body in his arms, sleeping more soundly than he has in months. He wants to take care of her, to keep her safe, to let her get close. He wants all the things that he shouldn't want, and it's crippling him.

"Mr. Teller?"

The nurse calls his name from the station, and he rushes over. He doesn't say a word, he just stands and listens.

"Miss Gattina would like to see you, and she would also like me to inform you that Miss Telford was not injured in the accident. You can follow me to prep, we only have a few moments before they take her back to surgery."

He nods wordlessly, still getting used to the formality of the girls' last names - even though Brooke's isn't even real. He wonders why they hadn't told him who they were, given him all of the information, but he lets it go as he follows the nurse to a nearby room.

Rachel looks worried, her normally tanned skin looking ghostly. They've got her hooked up to a few IV's, a bag of blood and something he's sure is giving her the glazed over look that she had on her face. When she looks at him, when her face hardens with anger rushing into it, he knows that she's refused the pain meds and that he's in for a ripping.

"Your mom is a one crazy bitch." She snaps, her brown eyes afire with her rage.

Jax would love to be able to tell her to fuck off, that of course that wasn't true, but he can't. Rachel is one hundred percent right when it comes to Gemma, and he's sure that Brooke is thinking the same thing. He's sure that they're both questioning why the club had even taken them in.

"Sit down." Rachel commands.

Jax obeys, not knowing what else to do in his silent stupor. He can't believe how foolish he had been, how insane it was that he had just thought his mother was staying longer at his grandfather's home. Of course she would try and surprise him, try to catch him off guard. She's smarter than to let herself be predictable in her madness.

"I need you..." She pauses, brushing a few stray hairs away from her face, her movements sluggish from the pain. "There's something you need to know about Brooke."

Jax stays quiet, not knowing quite what to say as Rachel struggles to sit up.

"Brooke's been classified as a missing person for over a year by the Los Angeles Police Department. The media has assumed that she's been dead for at least six months."

_You're not the only one with a fucked up mom, Jax._

_When her life went to shit, I was the emotional crutch that she needed._

_No one's been this good to her in years, let alone a man._

It suddenly all makes sense to Jax as he reels from the information that Rachel's just provided, whether her loose lips came from the trauma or otherwise not mattering in that moment. The secrecy about who they were, the fact that no one had come looking for Brooke aside from the redhead, Rachel's defensive actions whenever taking Brooke to a hospital was brought up. It all made sense. They had been hiding from everyone, coasting from town to town. Rachel had protected Brooke from the media, and in return, she must've bankrolled the entire operation.

"She told me about the company. About her mom, what she did to her." Jax manages to get out, thinking back to the diner. The Brooke that he had seen then is so open, so unwavering in her need to tell him who she was. But there were things that he was noticing about her words now, the fact that she never told him what the company's name was, swearing up and down that she could never go back, that she could only go forward.

"Victoria is the least of her problems if the media finds out that Brooke is checked into the hospital, and they will because someone's bound to recognize her. They're vultures, Jax." Rachel breathes out, her pressure bandages restraining her body. "They'll come to find out what the story is, to pick her bones. She must have thought that Charming was small enough that she would be safe from them. And the second that they see that it's actually her..."

"She'll be walking into an ambush." He murmurs, shaking his head as he realizes exactly whats to come.

"They'll dig up every nasty secret, Jax. Every guy she's slept with, every bartender who served her a drink. And then..."

It hits him like a freight train, visions of Brooke lying on the pavement surrounded by pools of blood. It's been their secret, the club's burden to carry - which they'd been more than willing to do. But Jax knew all too well what the temptation of money could do to a club, how it could tear its members apart and take no prisoners. It's what the cartel had done to them, rip their club apart until they could just barely put it back together.

"Tell me what I need to do." Jax manages to heave out, his brow furrowed in pain as the vivid memories of the aftermath of Brooke's attack play in his mind. "Tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

Rachel laughs, her voice bitter and filled with hate. "There's nothing you can do now, Jax. You just have to protect her. Be the knight in shining armor that she thinks you are. Get her out of this hospital they second they patch her up."

"She won't leave without you."

A nurse appears in the doorway in sterile green hospital scrubs, walking over to Rachel's bedside and raising the handrails. "Miss Gattina, we have to go. The operating room is ready for you."

Rachel nods warily, looking back over at him with hazy eyes fill with tears. "Make her. You have to make her leave me." The finality in Rachel's tone settles the conversation, settles the issues that have swirling around the room. "Just tell her I love her, okay? Tell that she has to do this for me, and that I love her."

She's doing the right thing, she tells herself as Jax nods and the nurse pushes her out of her room and towards the operating room. She's knows she's doing the right thing for Brooke by getting her out of here, even if it means separating the two of them for the first time in years. As the tears settle in and streak down her cheeks, Rachel tells herself that over and over again, that Jax will take care of Brooke and that she'll be perfectly fine, that she comes first after everything that she's been through.

They'll all be okay, she tells herself as the nurse gets her into the operating room, watching as the doctor puts the mask over her face and tells her to count back from ten.

Even if it hurts like hell, they'll all be okay.


	5. Cause There's A Method To My Madness

The doctor's office is quiet as Brooke lays on the exam table after her MRI, her swelling knee propped up and the young female doctor moving it around slowly. She whimpers in pain every now and again, instinctively clenching her hand around the lip of the table. She's expecting Jax's hand to be there or for him to be watching silently from the door, and her heart sinks when she feels nothing but cold air rushing through her fingers. She misses him terribly, and she hates herself for it because he's not hers.

Brooke fights back tears as she tries to keep herself together. She hates being alone, she's realized over the last few weeks. She had been so used to it once, having grown accustomed to absentee parents and friends with better things to do then sit around with her. But now, Brooke can't stand the sinking feeling she gets when there isn't someone with her. Rachel had always been at her side, and when she wasn't it had only been because she was seeking solace in a warm body in her sheets. And with Jax, she had felt that she could count on him. She bites her lip as a small voice in her head tells her that she should have let him come into the room with her. She shouldn't have ran, she thinks to herself, but then realizes that if she hadn't Rachel might not have made it to the hospital before bleeding out.

"How did you injure your knee, Miss..." The doctor looks down at her chart, eyeing the brunette warily. "Telford?"

Brooke stares up at the ceiling as tears form in her eyes, thanking everything holy that she doesn't have to hide them for the moment. After all, it's just a doctor that she'll never see again. "I fell down the stairs." She says softly, biting down on her lower lip to keep the words from coming out. _I let myself go too far. I went missing. I almost died. There's an entire police force looking for me._ It nearly slips from her soft lips as the doctor shifts her knee again, but she pushes them down to the deepest darkest place of her soul.

"You came in with Chibs Telford, correct? He's your...father?" Her words are wary, hesitant, almost scared of the answer.

"Estranged. Estranged father, I just came back into town to visit him." Brooke's lie is of the highest caliber, all too used to spinning tales to get her where she needs to go. "I was folding some sheets, and I just got a little wrapped up in one of them."

"These injuries don't look like they're from a fall. They look like someone beat the crap out of you."

Anger ignites in Brooke's chest, completely smothering everything else she's feeling. How _dare_ she? How fucking dare this woman accuse _her _boys of doing something to her? They were the only reason that she's even breathing, let alone receiving treatment at a hospital. There had been no foreseeable way that she would've gotten out of that parking lot alive if it hadn't of been for Jax, not a chance in hell.

Brooke pushes her body up onto her elbows, glaring at the woman that's currently putting her through a world of pain. "Are you really that fucking judgmental about a group of _bikers_? Do you honestly think that they would've brought me here if one of them had done this to me? Do you think that they would've rushed into the emergency room to make sure that I got this checked out, and open them up to a criminal case because of presumptive people like _you_?" Brooke snarls viciously, shaking her head as she falls back against the frigid table. "You've got to be smarter than that, Doc."

"Jax Teller's wife worked here up until she was murdered, so I'm sorry if I'm not keen on them being in my emergency room again."

Brooke's face relaxes out of shame. Fuck, of course this was where Tara hard worked. Of fucking course her luck is actually that bad. It's why Jax had been so hesitant to bring her here in the first place, why they'd had Chibs and Charlie do everything for her back at the club. It's probably the reason as to why Jax is so ridiculously protective of her, because the last woman in his care didn't get out of the club alive. She realizes then of how protective she is of Jax, of his beloved club, when she doesn't know all of the ongoings of it. She had known that they did exactly have the best standing in the town, that many people were wary of the Sons, but she didn't think that they were immediately associated with death.

"They saved my life." The harsh words come flying out of Brooke's throat, ripping from her like the stitches embedded in her skin. She feels like she needs to say it, the craving to defend them all too strong. "I was assaulted by some psycho at a bar, and they saved my _life_." Her eyes don't leave the ceiling as tears leak down her cheeks, the urge to sob crackling in her chest.

It's a brutal rush of emotion that comes through her, every scorched memory she's had flowing through her veins as she thinks of the Jax's face when she'd come downstairs for the first time. Blue eyes singing with regret and pain, tender movements, all the devotion to her care and well being. Brooke wonders if everything he's done for her is a penance to Tara, if every action that has come since her attack is for the wife that he'd so tragically lost.

The silence is deafening as all movement stops. There's an awkward pause, a quiet moment of reservation from the doctor, maybe even of thought. Brooke is more than grateful when she moves along with it, slowly moving her fingers along Brooke's tender eyesocket. The hiss of pain that escapes her lips is venomous.

"Your face looks like it's healing up well, I'd say another week or so before you can have someone take your stitches out." She says before reaching for her knee. The good doctor's hands deftly maneuver her knee once more, causing Brooke's eyes to nearly roll back into her head.

"I really hate to tell you this, but you've dislocated your knee again, Miss Telford. I'm going to have to pop it back in."

"What?"

Brooke manages to get the question out before the doctor skillfully cracks the injured joint back into place, a wordless scream of pain thrusting through her lips as she grasps either side of the hospital bed. She's barely caught her breath when the doctor starts checking her sore shoulder, which she informs her is definitely out of place as well.

As the doctor starts to get herself ready to pop the joint back in, she remembers why she really, really fucking hates hospitals.

* * *

Jax sits in the waiting area with Chibs, tapping his foot relentlessly as his counterpart sips his coffee. His left hand man had come back with the bag of materials Brooke had requested, the make up and some of the clothes that he'd bought her yesterday sitting between the two of them. They hadn't spoken a word to each other since Chibs had come into the lobby, and Jax eyes him warily.

"Did you know?" His question is quiet, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. "Did you know about Brooke?"

Chibs shakes his head, watching the nurses as they mill around the two men with cautious gazes and concern. "I knew that she wasn't tellin' us the full story, but I figured she'd do it in her own time." He murmurs with a sigh, looking over at the blonde. "There's reporters outside already, fussin' over some woman that's been missing. Is that her?"

Jax nods wordlessly, glancing over to the glass doors. There's too much movement outside for his liking, more than there normally is at Charming Presbyterian. He can't see any cameras yet but the news vans are enough to make him want to crawl out of his own skin just for putting Brooke in this position. "It's complicated." He mumbles, still trying to process the information himself. It hadn't been easy, trying to understand why a woman like Brooke would go running from a life of fortune and fame. Or maybe it's completely understandable, given that he's used to the constant backlash of infamy in the town of Charming.

The blonde cracks his knuckles, a nervous habit, as they wait there for Brooke. Rachel's been in surgery for about an hour, with the nurses giving them the occasional update. They'd removed the bullet, it was just a matter of closing her up now. It would only be another hour or so before she'd be brought up to the ICU, where she'd stay for a few days of recovery. Jax had insisted that all medical bills be forwarded to Teller Automotive for both Rachel and Brooke. It had seemed only fair, since his mother had been the one to do the damage.

His thoughts are interrupted by a scream, the voice so familiar that Jax immediately jumps to his feet. Brooke's voice is as clear as day from down the hall, blood curdling and so loud that he swears the windows will break. Jax doesn't even bother to get permission from the nurse as he bolts down the hallway to her exam room, ignoring the yells of the women at the desk as he barges into her appointment, throwing the door open in nothing short of fear.

She's laid up in an exam gown with her knee raised, her face creased in all sorts of pain when her frantic gaze meets his. Brooke's eyes are wild with pain as the doctor begins to yell at him, the woman's hands placed firmly on his house guest's shoulder. Shouts of how unacceptable this is graze past him as Jax makes strides to her side, her free hand grabbing onto his tightly as tears fill her eyes. "Jax..." She manages to get out in a strangled cry, her teeth gritted from what looks like an impending shoulder relocation.

The doctor is still screeching at him that he has no right to be in the room as his free hand brushes back a few strands of Brooke's hair, his attention focused solely on her. The room is chaotic as Chibs comes running up behind him, brusquely shutting the door to put himself between the pissed off nurses and Jax, but he doesn't leave her side. He doesn't move a muscle as cobalt locks on hazel, knowing that _this _is where he needs to be. No matter how angry she is at him, she needs him right now and that's all that matters.

"...that is _it, _Mr. Teller! You need to leave or I will call security right now!" The doctor hollers at him, and he's about to shout when he's interrupted by the woman clutching his hand.

"Would you just shut up and pop my shoulder back in? He's not fucking going anywhere!" Brooke snaps angrily, and he knows it's more out of irritation than anything.

She doesn't look away from him, she doesn't move. His fingers weave through her unbridled mane of curls, focused on her as the doctor finally manages to give them a moment of silence, before cupping her cheek. "It's just you and me, Brooke." Jax says as he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head. He wipes away the traces the already fallen tears have left, trying his best to soothe her. "It's just you and me, okay? I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you."

He watches as she nods tearfully and clenches her jaw in pain as the doctor begins to wrap her hands around Brooke's shoulder. The agony in her face is evident, her brow furrowed and her entire body tensed. His forehead rests against hers as he murmurs soft reassurances into her ear, and when her body finally chooses to relax the doctor snaps her shoulder back into place.

* * *

Brooke lets out a howl that reverberates through the entire room like a crystal clear echo, clenching Jax's hand as she struggles to remember how to breathe. The last time they had done this to her, had to go as far as popping bones back into proper places, she's absolutely sure that she had been passed out. Brooke can't remember a time in her life where such sharp pain was to be expected, her body curling up into a ball as she pulls jagged breaths into her lungs. She focuses on the map of Jax's hand, the way that it fits so snugly within her own. She concentrates on memorizing the callouses of his grip left by the curve of his handlebars, the tough pads of skin that remind her of his roots.

She doesn't hear the guidelines from the doctor, how she can't lift anything over a certain amount or how long she'll need to rest after this. Brooke's eyes are closed, the sound of Jax's voice lulling her to sleep as he asks her doctor all the questions a good man should bring up. She's sure that he'll relay them all to her makeshift medical team at the club, listening to the low timbres of his tone while his hand skims through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. She only opens her eyes when she hears the door click safely behind the doctor, eyelids fluttering as her gaze finds him. A drowsy smile graces her lips.

"We really need to stop doing this, you know." Brooke murmurs bitterly, beginning to get up. She hasn't forgotten the moments before she'd gotten Rachel to the hospital, and they wouldn't be forgiven as easily as she'd like to.

His hands quickly secure her to his side, his muscular arm wrapped around her waist and pulling her to her feet before she can stop him. Jax looks down at her somberly, nodding. "I'm sorry." He whispers, and she nearly caves from the tremble in his voice. But there's something in his eyes, as if he held a truth that he'd yet to say out loud. She knows right then that her past has been shared, that she's been found out.

_God damn you, Rachel. _

"You know." Her words are not a question, but a statement. Brooke already knows the answer as she sees Jax nod, hazel locked on blue. For the first time since she's met him, there are no hidden secrets between them. Brooke knows about Tara, and Jax knows that she's been running for the last two years in order to get away from her own name.

"You should've told me." Jax mumbles as he awkwardly hands her the bag of clothes that Chibs had picked up for her. "I could've protected you."

Brooke sighs as she grabs the bag from him. "From what? Your psychotic mother?" She snaps, digging into the bag and pulling out a pair of dark jeans and a silk black tank top. Classic, reserved, not too flashy. She'd look like she had just been off the map and taking a vacation from fame and fortune. It's exactly what she's looking for.

She hears him sigh from across the room as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "If I had known..."

"If you had known what, Jax? That I was running from my past and needed someone to make sure no one found out?" Her voice is harsh, unforgiving. Brooke doesn't even look up, in fear of meeting his stare and finding her resolve weakened by it. He has a habit of doing that to her. "I wasn't planning on almost dying. I wasn't planning to stay here long. Oakland was just another stop along the coast for me, nothing more."

"And now?"

Jax's icy gaze sears her like a brand. She knows that look, that search for answers. She just doesn't have them for him. Brooke doesn't have any of the answers to his little tests of loyalty, to his questions of her future. A month ago, she didn't _have_ a future here, didn't have a single plan for her life. All she had was Rachel, their SUV and the road ahead. She wonders if she liked it more that way - no, she _knows_ she had preferred it that way. To not have a single connection meant that she didn't have to make any apologies for her behavior. She didn't have to hold press conferences and sit in merger meetings and be someone more. She had just been another wayward soul with a pile of cash and a vicious past that needed to just disappear.

"I'd like to be alone." Brooke mumbles, reaching for the tie of her gown without so much as looking up at him. She can't meet his eyes, reluctant to give him a clear answer. She knows how infuriating it must be for him, but she doesn't give a damn. She's too busy prepping for her carefully closed life to blow open into chaos.

But Jax doesn't leave. He just stands behind her awkwardly, shifting from side to side as he tries to get his words out. "You can't get dressed alone with your arm..."

She sighs in frustration, sick of being the invalid everyone has to care for. "Fine." Brooke accepts, turning her back towards him. She can't look at him. She doesn't have it in her.

* * *

Jax cautiously moves towards her, his hands shaking from the emotions that are coursing through him. His feelings, the little fuckers that he had tried to smother for so long, threaten to explode through the iron gates he calls a chest. She looks so angry, so resentful, and he wonders if it's because of him. No, he _knows_ it's because of him, because of this situation that he's dragged her into.

His fingers slowly undo the ties of the dressing gown, hands sliding the rough fabric open to reveal her naked back. Jax can feel her shiver from his touch, the sensation making his cold heart thump in his chest. The visions of his dream flash before his eyes, rumbling in the darkness of his soul. He can feel her body wrapped around him, taste her lips, hear her raspy moans that sound like she's dying and being reborn all at once. He can't even put into words how much he wants to admit what he's feeling, having never been good at hiding his emotions, but the image of Tara lying on the kitchen floor silences him.

_You'll destroy her._

Tara's voice rings in his head, and Jax's hands trace the curve of her back. He can't help himself as his head leans down to her injured shoulder, his lips nuzzling the still sensitive skin. "I'm sorry, Brooke." He whispers against her porcelain skin, and she trembles in his arms.

She stays silent as his hands move to her sides, running along her bare skin, neither pressing him to move forward or stopping his actions. It's the closest they've been since the night prior, and he feels the unfamiliar sense of peace sweep over him. He lingers there, unable to rip himself away from her. His hands stop shaking, and he feels remorse course through him. She shouldn't be here, shouldn't be wrapped up in the hurricane that he calls a life. Brooke should be somewhere safe, somewhere with elegant parties and men breaking down her door just to get a date with her, but somehow she's here and he can't help but feel like that's some kind of sign.

He repeats himself, just to affirm that he actually means it. "I'm sorry."

She leans into his touch, and it's all the reassurance he needs to finally let go of everything he's been holding back from her. Jax wraps his arms around her naked waist, pulling her body against his gently, ever cautious of her healing ribs. Brooke's skin is so warm that he can feel it radiate through his t-shirt, his hands spanning her slim waist as he gratefully envelopes her body. He wants to be closer, wants to feel her skin against his again, wants to hold her in his arms and never let anything happen to her again.

"I'll protect you from all of it. The press, your mother. I'll do anything just don't..." He's biting back tears when she turns around in his arms, finally looking at his with those hazel eyes that can make him do whatever she wants.

"Just stop, Jax." Brooke's good hand presses against his chest, trying to push him away from her as she shakes her head. "I can't ask you to do that. You've already done so much. I can't..." She trails off, her gaze dropping to the floor.

Jax hooks the tip of her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "You don't need to." He whispers. "Just don't go."

Her hazel eyes fill with tears, and the brunette bites down on her lower lip. "They'll come after the club. Your boys. You." Brooke looks up at him tearfully, her breathing now shallow from keeping in her sobs. "You don't know what it's like, Jax. You don't know what it's like to have zero privacy, to constantly have cameras shoved in your face. It will literally tear your life apart."

"I don't care." Jax's hands move from her waist to her long locks, threading his grasp into her dark mane as he forces her to look into his gaze, to not sidestep the question once more. "Stay with me."

Brooke lets his words wash over her in silence, and it's the most intoxicating thing he's ever seen. He feels her leans into his touch almost instinctively, eyes closed. She's so beautiful like this, when she's so vulnerable that he can look through all the walls that she's built up. How long had it been since someone had been there for her, aside from Rachel? How long had it been since she had let someone else take care of her for a change?

He wants to let her in. He wants to let her in to all of the cracks and crevices that no one's been able to get close to since his wife died, but he just doesn't know how to. Jax is so used to being the cool and collected head of the Sons that he doesn't know how to be vulnerable with anyone, let alone a woman that he could truly care for.

"You'll resent me." She whispers.

"No, I won't." Jax promises with a bitter laugh, shaking his head. He can't believe that a woman like her, a woman as beautiful and as kind as her, is constantly finding reasons to push him away - things that are wrong with _her_ none the less. Sure, she's bitchy sometimes and nothing's short of complicated with her, but he wants her. He wants _her_. He doesn't know how else to say it.

He can feel her give in before she actually says in. Her body relaxes in his arms as if she's finally allowing herself to trust him.

"Okay." Brooke whispers, and when she looks up at him with her big beautiful hazel eyes...

He damn near loves her.

* * *

When Rachel wakes up, she's in absolutely excruciating pain.

It's a rush of unimaginable pressure on her stomach that hits her as soon as she opens her eyes, and the gritted groan that she lets out is more along the line of a scream. Every stitch, every cut; she can feel them all as she gasps for air, the machines around her lighting up light a Christmas tree. Her eyes go wide as she looks for Brooke, searching for her face among the sea of nurses that come pouring in as she clenches the sheets of the hospital bed.

"Rachel, fucking _breathe_!"

It's not Brooke beside her, but Opie, the giant and burly biker from the club that she had nearly killed when they wouldn't let her get near Brooke. Her entire body goes rigid as she lets out another cry of pain, tears pricking her eyes. The pain is so intense that she can't even pull in a stable breath, the savagery of the sensation making her want to die, and from the corner of her eye she sees the nurses prepping a bag of something to give her. Her frantic gaze turns to Opie as she shakes her head violently, and when he leans over to hear what she's saying, she manages to choke out that she's an addict. When he looks down at her knowingly, he nods before looking over at a nurse.

"She's refusing pain medication."

"But Mr. Winston..."

"Did you not hear me, lady?" His tone is gruff, a snarl in its own right as he stands in front of the IV in her arm, blocking them. Rachel can barely see past the haze of raging torment that her abdomen is giving her, but even she knows that the towering biker is not one to be messed with as Opie stands at her side protectively."No pain meds. Do I make myself crystal fucking clear, or do I need to rip the IV out of her arm for you to get it?"

The nurse shrinks a few inches, nodding slowly. "I can give her an anti-anxiety. It's non-addictive, it'll calm her down enough for her body to relax."

Opie looks down at Rachel, and she realizes that he's asking for her okay. She nods slowly, clenching her jaw as she takes shallow breaths. She's quickly figuring out that if she takes too deep of a breath in, her side feels like something is trying to dig its way out of her.

But he's just there, domineering as he stares down the nearby trembling nurse. "Do that, and nobody puts anything in her without her permission, period." Opie's presence is commanding, overshadowing any ideas that any of the staff may have had to make Rachel do what she doesn't want to. She has to admit, with the beard, the long hair and the cold demeanor, he's pretty fucking hot. It's too bad he's married. Or maybe not. She's never really had an issue with the whole unfaithful husband thing. In fact, it's always been a little bit of a thrill for her.

After the injection of the new medication into her IV bag, Rachel's able to actually think straight, looking over at the biker that's taken up residence in the chair beside her bed. "Where's Brooke?" She questions, even though she knows from where he's seated that she must be with Jax. Otherwise, Brooke would've been holding vigil at her bedside, rosary and all.

"Where the fuck do you think she is?" Opie's tone is dry, not even bothering to look up from the auto magazine he's immersed himself into.

Rachel glares at him, wishing that she had sucker punched him when she'd had the chance. "Just because I got shot doesn't mean I won't kick your ass." She growls with a gaze of ice.

He smirks, clearly amused by her behavior. She wants to throttle him, and _not_ in a fun way. "You keep tellin' yourself that, Red."

Rachel rolls her eyes, leaning back into her pillows and looking up at the ceiling. "Out of all of the people, she sends the _married _one to keep an eye on me. Fucking priceless." She mutters to no one in particular, wincing as she shifts a little bit. She doesn't miss the dirty look that Opie sends her way, raising an eyebrow at his behavior. "What, 'cause you want to be here so much? Don't you have some porn star wife to go make a baby with?"

Opie grimaces, and she knows that she's hit a nerve when he abruptly changes the subject. "Brooke's with Jax. They went back to the club before more reporters showed up."

Oh, she's _definitely_ landed on something, and Rachel doesn't wait to take advantage of it. She loves fucking with people, it's practically her favorite pastime. "Do I sense trouble in biker paradise? Must be really hard to actually communicate when she's too busy getting her girl on girl action on. Happy tells me that her films are to _die_ for. Maybe I'll even get in on it when I'm all healed up."

The brute nearly jumps out of his seat, his grimace now a full blown sneer of distaste. "Listen, you little-"

"Careful, Opie. Your little green monster's showing. I knew marriage was a bitch, but I didn't realize it was a jealous one." Rachel smirks, thoroughly enjoying poking the big bad biker bear. She knows that he can't leave, that his precious president would do more than a little damage if Opie didn't obey his orders, and she plans on keeping herself entertained while in this white prison cell of a hospital room.

Opie glowers at her, his hands clenching the rails of her bed in rage. "If you weren't in this hospital, I'd rip you to shreds." He snarls.

She grins from ear to ear, a Cheshire Cat in her own right. "Oh I'm counting on it, baby."

* * *

A few days pass.

It had been a mine field from the moment that they had stepped out of the hospital. Jax had barely managed to get Brooke into the backseat of his truck without being seen, reporters swarming them from all sides. Chibs and Happy had swerved in front of them to clear a path, but the photographers still jump in front of the truck just to get a picture of Brooke. She had only crawled up from below the seats once they were out of the hospital parking lot, and the look on her face had nearly killed him. She had looked so terrified of them, of what her picture getting into the papers might do, and Jax had to restrain himself from running them all over.

She had stayed in the backseat, his ever watchful gaze peeking back on her as she had curled up against the door and gazed out into the quaint town of Charming. When she had dropped her large black sunglasses over her eyes, he had known it was because she didn't want him to see her tears. Jax had given her the space that she had needed, knowing that he had no right to invade the little quiet moment she had.

When they had gotten back to the club, Jax had instructed that the gates to the auto shop remain closed at all times, keeping two prospects in front of it for good measure. While the media may not have followed them, he had been sure that they would track down where her medical bills were being sent to without a hitch. The way that they had come after Brooke had reminded him of vultures circling the carnage of an accident. It sickened him.

She had quietly escaped up to his room when he had called church into effect, mumbling about how she needed to be alone. Jax had begged her to wait for him, but she had just hobbled up the stairs without him and slammed the door to his room after yelling at him to go see his kids.

He had known that he had to inform the club what was about to happen, the members of his crew sitting around the table one by one. Kosik, Bobby, Chibs and Happy had all taken up their respectful positions, Opie's seat left open as he had still been at the hospital. When he had explained why the media would be looking into the Sons, and that Brooke needed to be protected above all costs, the guys didn't even blink. They had all been there when she'd been brought in from the parking lot where Jax had found her, every last one of them, and they had understood the gravity of the situation. The media was not to get their hands on Brooke, period.

On the first day, she would only let Chibs and Opie into the room, the first for medical care and the latter to let her know how Rachel was doing. She had blatantly refused to see Jax, which he hadn't exactly been okay with. _"She needs her rest, Jackie. Let her sleep." _Chibs had said every time he came to the door, and it made Jax nearly rip his dear friend's throat out.

He'd stayed at his own home for the first time in weeks, still unable to look at Thomas without feeling pangs of guilt and rage. Abel was too observant, too questioning. Wendy had tried to talk to him, but he'd shrugged her off like he always did. He'd fallen asleep with Abel in his arms, despite his best attempts to keep his son at arms length.

On the second day, he follows her instructions and spends time with his sons. He takes them to the park, tries to explain to Abel one last time exactly where his Mommy is. When they get back and Wendy asks where he's been the last two weeks, he doesn't bother to explain himself because he really doesn't know how to. How could he possibly explain Brooke to his ex-wife, when he doesn't even know what she is to him anyway? How is he supposed to explain how connected to her he feels, how she's suddenly become the most important thing in his life? How does anyone make sense of something that's as confusing as Brooke Davis?

More importantly, how does he open up to anyone besides the brunette currently residing in his bedroom?

He comes back to the club that night to find Chibs playing with a butterfly knife as he watches the stairs. Jax is drunk, the bottle of whiskey still in his hand as he drags himself up the stairs and tries to get in to see her again. He's loud and obnoxious, howling her name as loud as he can while trying to get her to talk to him. He's so belligerent Chibs has to literally drag him back down to the bar, trying to explain to him that Brooke just needs her space to figure out what she wants to do. But space is not something that he does well, so he goes into the auto shop and drinks until the room spins.

He finds out from Opie that Rachel had taken a turn for the worse during the night, bumping into him when he goes up to Brooke's room to apologize. As he hears Opie tell him that Rachel had started coughing up blood while Opie had been visiting with her, he knows that it might be serious.

_"Does she want me there?"_

_"She wanted to be alone with Rachel. She wouldn't even let me stay with them."_

Jax blames himself, blames his mother, and gives her all the space she wants because he knows deep down that her best friend's injuries were a result of his life. Brooke doesn't leave the hospital for the next two days while the doctors monitor Rachel, and when she finally does come back, it's only to shower and catch a few hours of sleep.

Jax sees her on the fifth day when she has Opie take her back to the hospital, watches her from his bedroom window as she pulls herself into the backseat of Rachel's black SUV. The bruises on her face have faded to a pale yellow, her still swollen eye hidden behind her over sized sunglasses. She's not making it a point to hide the cast on her wrist anymore, there's no point when its snow white color stands out from everything, but her the rest of her is covered from head to toe. Her long sleeved button up hides the bruises on her shoulders and her fractured ribcage, long denim jeans covering her braced knee and ankle. She looks beautiful with her naturally undone waves pulled away from her face, and he can just barely see the bruises on the back of her neck.

But even with all of her careful maneuvers, he can still see Brooke.

Bruises on her shoulder and neck from when she had been thrown to the ground.

A dislocated knee and a shattered ankle from when she'd tried to crawl away.

A broken eye socket from when she'd had a fist collide with her face.

A serious concussion from when her head had been slammed against the pavement.

Three broken ribs from when she'd been kicked so forcefully that bones snapped.

From one hundred feet away, Jax still sees the real her, even if it's not the version of her that she wants the public to see. He sees the fighter that got through an attack that would've killed anyone else. He sees the woman that would give up her cautiously private life just to make sure that her best friend, her family, knows that she isn't alone. Even through all the disguise and the make up, he sees Brooke for who she is, and he might even love her for it.

She comes back much later that night, when he's just barely asleep on the clubhouse couch, and he barely feels her drape a blanket over his shirtless body and kiss his forehead. In his dazed stupor, Jax smiles softly, because he knows that there's still a chance that she hasn't given up on him yet.

When he wakes up at three o'clock in the morning to hear her shower running, Jax finally makes his way upstairs. The boys have left he and Brooke alone, the entire club abandoned aside from the two prospects at the gate. She had barely came out of her room since Rachel had been shot, and he'd finally convinced Chibs to give him a turn. He rakes his hand through his long blond hair as he stands in front of his door. He's trying to think of something to say, something to ease her worries. There's nothing he can say to make this better, no charming quip to make her smile. Brooke's world is imploding, and he doesn't even know what he's supposed to do.

He knocks softly before opening the door, finding his bed empty and the entire room shrouded in a mist of steam. He cracks the two windows by his bed to get some fresh air into the room and debates on whether or not to go in after her. Jax would've normally gone downstairs and just given Brooke the privacy she more than deserved, but something drags him into the bathroom to check that she's okay.

"Brooke, are you..."

Jax's question drags on as his eyes catch hers. She's sitting on the floor of the shower, wringing her hands as the steaming water cascades over her body. She's still dressed, her clothes sticking to her body. Her head doesn't even perk up from his voice.

She looks exhausted. More accurately, she looks broken.

"They pulled out her spleen today. One second she was talking, and the next she was coughing up blood." Brooke chokes out as her hands shake. Her hazel eyes finally meet his, rimmed red from tears yet to be shed. "I can still feel Raye's blood on my hands, just...everywhere. She was coughing so hard that it was just everywhere. I've washed my hands a hundred times, but I can't..." She pauses, her voice wavering. "I can't wash it off, so I got in the shower, and I just..."

His heart is in his throat as he stands before her, the image of Brooke's head surrounded by a crimson halo of blood filling his thoughts. He could still feel the very life of her body spilling out onto his hands, fresh and seeping through his fingers and into the fabric of his jeans. Most days it felt like he would never scrub it off.

Silently, he climbs into the shower with her, sinking down beside her. Jax doesn't care that his hair slowly unfurls from its carefully slicked back style, that his t-shirt sticks to his skin like a layer of scales and that his white tennis shoes soak all the way to the sole. He doesn't even care that the water is freezing cold. He just leans his head back against the tiled wall and looks at her. "Are you cold?"

Brooke nods, and he silently reaches up and turns up the water till it's warm again. Jax's arms slowly wrap around her and he feels her tiny hands ball up the side of his shirt, pulling her closer to him. His lips press to the side of her head, trying to give her some sort of comfort, and when he feels her start to sob, he just hold onto her. He lets her cry so hard that Jax worries her ribs will give out, holds her in his arms and tries to figure out what she needs. The paparazzi to be dead? Her mother to be gone? Her company to be her's again? He doesn't know and he doesn't ask because she more than deserves a little peace.

Her tears subside after a half hour or so, when the skin on his hands is wrinkled and the water's beginning to turn cold again. She finally manages to look up at him again, and he marvels at her beauty once again. Jax doesn't smile, doesn't frown, just looks at her. He wants to memorize her, just in case she does leave him. "Tell me what you need." He whispers, his free hand tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

It's the most natural thing in the world when she leans in and presses her lips to his. It's the most relaxed moment of his life, as if kissing Brooke is as easy as breathing, and Jax feels alive from the moment that his lips meet hers. It's soft and sweet, almost like a hello or a good morning, and it takes everything he has in him to pull away from the soft embrace.

Her hazel eyes look at him expectantly, hopefully even. It's amazing to him that someone as jagged and twisty as Brooke can still have hope in her, despite everything she's been through, and it's all Jax needs to press another delicate kiss to her lips, gentle with his movements. "I'm so sorry, Brooke." He whispers against her lips, lips that taste like cherries, lips that he never wants to come up from.

Brooke doesn't speak, doesn't utter a word. She silently pulls herself into Jax's arms, her head resting on his chest, and he wraps his arms around her in response. He doesn't know what else to do to make all of this better. He doesn't know how to make Brooke's bruises fade, how to sew up Rachel's stomach. He doesn't know how they'll handle the scrutiny from the press. All he knows is that he'll do anything to protect her.

He's just praying that it'll be enough.

* * *

She loves torturing Opie.

It's Rachel's new favorite pastime, poking the extremely volatile biker that's now camped out in her room under her best friend's orders. He's strong and silent, keeping his words to himself until he's actually pissed, and then his tone turns harsh and unforgiving. She likes the way his eyes get dark with rage, the way his hands clench when he's infuriated with her. It keeps her entertained when she's flipping back and forth between the channels, keeps her hoping that she'll get out of this hellhole sooner rather than later so that she can get back to her normal life.

And then it's also a fact that it's really fucking hot when he looks at her like he wants to absolutely destroy her.

But when she gets back from her second surgery, she's too exhausted to stab him with verbal barbs. Rachel's finally caved to the pain medication when it came down to having an organ removed, allowing herself to feel a minimal amount of relief. The nurses keep it locked so she can't up her doses, reducing the pain to a mild ache instead of an unforgivable throb. She curses every fiber of Brooke's being for telling the doctors that she's an addict, even though she knows it's the best thing for her. Brooke always knows what's best and she hates her a little bit for her.

Opie's still sitting in her room when she comes to from her splenectomy, reclining in a nearby chair with his beanie on her nightstand. He's smiling at whatever he's watching, the glint of his gold tooth shining in the light. He looks at ease, maybe even youthful. It's nice.

"Well holy fuck, the giant actually smiles." She mumbles through her chapped lips, swallowing dryly.

Opie turns to face her, his smile turning into a smirk as he looks over at her. "And Red lives to fuck up another day." He quips back, grabbing the styrofoam cup beside him and bringing it to her lips. "Drink up."

The water feels like heaven as she swallows a few gulps of it, tapping his hand lightly when she's done with it. Rachel's so tired that she can barely even give him a grin when she collapses back against the bed. "Tell me...you sent Brooke back to the club?"

"I took her back a few hours ago. No reporters outside this time. She's still a mess, but she's not a photographed one. Maybe they're losing interest." Opie sighs and takes a sip of her water, shaking his head. "Who had the brilliant idea to take off and avoid a missing person's report in the first place?"

Rachel feebly raises her hand, smiling weakly as she shrugs. "I mean, it was working out just fine until..." She falters. She doesn't talk about Brooke's attack, not once since she'd wound up here in the hospital, and she plans to keep it that way. Nobody likes the girl that shares too much, so she plays her cards a little tight to the chest. Maybe it's because he parents never really loved her, maybe it's because she doesn't trust anyone but Brooke. Maybe it's a combination of all of it. "Thanks for taking care of her." Rachel sighs out, leaning back into the pillows.

"No problem. I like having you all to myself."

Rachel smirks. He's quick on his feet, and she can't help but like it. "Aren't you still married to Porn Whore? Girl on girl not getting you going anymore?" She drawls out like a cat finding its way to a cup of cream. Oh, how she adores toying with him and his masculinity. It's like crack to a masochist like her.

Opie leans in, forcing her to take another drink of water as his dark eyes bear into her. "Separated. I'm separated from Lyla."

She pushes back against the cup, shaking her head as she glowers at him. "Married is married, honey. Brookie's got enough complicated for the both of us with your little friend." Rachel's words have a certain bite to them, nipping at Opie a little bit. She can't help it. She _loves_ messing with him, especially since he can take it. He's her very own punching bag, with a cute face to boot.

"Jax and I are nothing alike." Opie sneers with disgust, as if being like his blonde partner in crime would be the worst thing he could ever be. "He gets so pussy whipped that you can barely pry him away from whoever he's fucking. He falls in love and the whole world fades away."

"Brooke used to be the exact same way, before she lost the company." The red head takes another sip of the water as he shoves it in her face again, grimacing as she swallows. "She used to be all about her ex, before he bailed on her and married her best friend. Almost destroyed her career for him."

"Maybe they're made for each other." He says with a laugh, shaking his head. "He practically blew up his entire _world_ to keep Tara around."

"And you?" Rachel can't help but take another jab at him. She knows that she looks like shit, but that doesn't stop her from being the extremely confident woman that she's always been. "What's the gold toothed wonder like when he's fucking someone?"

Opie looks over at her with his rugged smirk, shaking his head. "Love is for teenage girls and fairy tales, but I'm sure you'll find out what I'm like in bed once you get out of this place."

She grins mischievously as her eyes begin to close from another dose of her pain medication. "Oh I'm counting on it, baby."


	6. Oh We Get What We Deserve

"You're not paying for this."

Brooke and Jax stand side by side at the local grocery store, her hand on her hip and his arms folded across his chest. It's been two days since their first kiss, and things are pleasantly normal between the two of. Well, as normal as they can be when her best friend's getting out of the hospital and Jax's mom is the one that put her there. They're getting to know each other, and to her that means doing something _other_ than heated make out sessions in small enclosed spaces.

It's not that she doesn't enjoy kissing Jax, because she does. She loves the way her head spins and the world disappears, like it's just the two of them and there's nothing else around them, but that's the problem. She can't think when he's kissing her, when his calloused hands cup her cheeks and pull her lips to his like he's a dying man in the desert and she's the oasis he's been searching for, and she needs to be able to think around him. She needs to decide what she wants and so does he, without the added pressure that their physical connection puts on things.

She's insisting on cooking dinner tonight as a surprise for Rachel, as well as a thank you for the boys that have been cautiously watching over them during their time in Charming, and is regretting bringing him with as she's on her second cart of food and he's disputing the fact that she might actually want to pay for something. Damn him and his need to be so fucking protective over her that she couldn't even leave the club alone. It's the shopping trip in Oakland all over again, but she's strong enough to say no this time.

Brooke holds a bundle of fresh cabbage in her hand, rolling her eyes at Jax's frustration. "I have my own money. You don't need to take care of me."

"Babe, this'll be a six hundred dollar bill for all the shit you're getting. I'm not lett-"

"You're not _letting_ me do anything. I'm buying groceries with _my _money for _my _dinner. You don't own me, Jax. You don't just get to decide things for me. End of freakin' discussion." Brooke interrupts as she tosses a few bundles of cabbage into the cart for her sweet slaw and glares at him relentlessly. She knows where this is leading to, she's just waiting for Jax to get there.

The blonde biker mutters something under his breath as they walk towards the butcher, and she glides effortlessly past him. Her walk gets more stable by the day, proudly sauntering up to the counter and requesting six of their best boneless pork roasts. Her bruises on her face have finally faded, but her damaged eye socket still lingers in a faint yellowing ring that's well hidden beneath her make up. Her long locks have successfully covered up the fingerprints on the back of her neck, her natural beach waves slowly getting blonder with the Charming sun and her skin lightly tanning up. She looks beautiful in his eyes, and better than she ever has in her own.

It doesn't take long for Jax to sidle up next to her and wrap his arm around his waist. His jealousy is off the charts since she started dressing like herself again, today a white scalloped lace tanktop tucked into a long emerald toned maxi skirt. She still hasn't managed to wrangle her feet into her heels though; Chibs has denied her access until her knee is fully healed and Jax made sure of it by hiding all the pairs that he'd bought her.

"I like it when you're bossy." Jax murmurs into her ear, and she doesn't even bother to stop the giggle that slips from her lips when he gives her waist a squeeze.

"You like it when I'm anything." Brooke retorts as she leans into him. It's simple moments like this that do it for her because here she is, standing in the middle of a grocery store with the man that makes her world stop and her most difficult decision is what kind of barbecue sauce she wants to use on the ribs.

"But I _really _like it when you go all boss woman on me. Shove you in a closet and kiss you till you-"

Brooke clamps a hand over his mouth in faux shock as she stifles her laughter. "We agreed! Talking, sharing, no more closet excursions until we figure out what in the hell this is." She chastises, lowering her hand with a bemused smile. She loves the way he is with her, all light and laughter. She wonders sometimes if that's the way he had been with Tara, or if it's been saved just for her.

But when Jax leans in and presses a warm tender kiss to her lips, she doesn't give a damn either way. She just leans in and rests her now brace clad wrist against his chest and actually lets herself be happy in his arms. She knows how rare it is, to connect to someone the way that she does to him with just a longing look. Regardless of how long or short it might last, she won't waste the time she has with him.

The clearing of the butcher's throat separates them, Brooke's cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as Jax shamelessly grins at her side. He even goes as far as to wink at the guy behind the counter. She smacks him in the stomach for good measure before he grabs the ribs from the kid behind the counter and gives him a nod of satisfaction.

They're wandering through the liquor store with their third cart in tow when he finally asks, his hands shoved into his pockets and his confident stroll turned into a shuffle. His blue eyes dart from bottle to bottle of vodka as Brooke searches for the ever elusive Grey Goose, and finally, it just slips out.

"How much money do you have, exactly?"

Brooke turns to look at him, finding his gaze as she grabs three bottles for herself and Rachel. The club never has any decent liquor and she's practically drooling for it half of the time since she went off the painkillers. "I have enough to keep me very, very comfortable for the rest of my life." She sighs out as they move through the aisle, her body leaning against the cart generously. "I built an empire and it crumbled, so I bolted because I didn't really have anything left."

Jax eyes her carefully, inspecting her every reaction as she grabs a few bottle of the cheap stuff for the boys before moving to the tequila area - because if this conversation is going to go any further, she'll definitely need a few shots when they get back to the club. "But what about your friends, your family. Didn't they..."

"Look for me?" Brooke cuts him off again, her eyebrow raised. She shrugs lightly, thinking back. Peyton and Lucas were married with a baby, Nathan and Haley were on baby number three and Mouth had gone off and married her former assistant, Millie. Everyone had gone off and found their happy ending while Brooke had been too busy working to pay any attention to it. The only ones that had reached out were Nate and Haley, who she still sent occasional letters and ridiculous gifts to whenever it got close to Jamie or Lydia's birthday. "They did. I just didn't want to be found." She says quietly, and her heart and mind immediately go onto the defensive. "When did you decide to join the club?"

Jax laughs like it's the craziest thing in the world for her to think that he had a choice in the matter. When she gives him her best no bullshit stare, he stops laughing and sighs, raking a hand through his beard absentmindedly. "The club...it's kind of like gravity." His face turns serious as he grabs three of their biggest bottles of whiskey. "You can only resist the pull for so long, and there's no rock bottom. The hole just gets deeper, and then..."

"...you feel like you're swimming underwater." Brooke finishes. She doesn't have a club or the obligations that Jax does, not anymore, but she remembers the way she felt when Victoria would tug her back down the rabbit hole whenever she so pleased. And from the way that he smiles and puts his arm around her waist, she knows that it's exactly how he feels.

They check out quietly with stolen glances and warm smiles, barely a word spoken between the two of them as the cashier looks over Jax like he's someone to be concerned about. Brooke doesn't even mind having an audience anymore because it's just what's to be expected with the club, and she even goes as far as to lean back against his body and let him slip his arms around her waist. She can feel the edges of his leather cut press against her, feel the flannel of his long sleeve shirt rustle against the lace of her own, and she's reminded of how powerful a man like Jax is in this town.

"Honey, could you go get the truck? My knee's starting to ache a little too, so I'll probably need you to lift me in too." Brooke says with a sweetness laid on so thick that it can only be described as sickly. She runs her fingertips back and forth along the blue flannel covering his arm with a wicked grin, the extra frosting on the cake.

He gets the point clear as day with her word of affection, and the cashier behind the counter blushes fifty shades of red when Jax's hand smacks Brooke's skirt covered ass and shoots his brunette beauty a wink that could make a nun drop her panties. "You're the boss, babe. Long as I get to get you out of that skirt later." Jax grins from ear to ear like a kid in a candy store, and she can't help but watch with the utmost pride as he goes sauntering out of the store with the confidence that she can't help but be drawn to. He's ridiculously sexy when he's all swelled up with the confident swagger that runs through his veins, and the deeper she gets in with him, the harder it is to pull away.

Without another word, she hands the cashier a few hundred dollar bills and waits for the groceries to be bagged. Brooke can just barely make out the black Ford truck that comes around the bend of the aisle, still far enough away that she can't see her blonde biker behind the wheel. She's not even really paying attention when she hands the bagger a ten to help her get the carts out to the lot, the soft smile on her face enough to show that she's pleasantly happy in the land of old lady domestication. She's so stupidly happy just waiting for Jax that she doesn't even feel someone walk up behind her.

"Afternoon, _pretty girl_."

Ice dips into her veins like she's just crossed the polar caps, and Brooke freezes in her tracks. It's not Lucas, the broody boy that used to call her pretty girl and tell her that she was the most important part of his world. It's not Jax, because he'd be touching her by now and it's certainly not Chibs with his lack of an accent. She would know the voice that creeps through the air like a poisonous haze, because it's the one that she'll never forget. It's the voice that haunts her nightmares, that slips into her everyday thoughts, into the precious moments that she has with the man that she's slowly letting in.

_"Why hello there, baby girl."_

Brooke's hands begin to shake and her heart nearly stops in her chest. She's clutching her purse for dear life and praying that Jax will walk back in through the sliding doors and she'll have him at her side. She's praying for anyone, for Chibs or Happy or Opie to come thundering in. She can't breathe and the room begins to spin because she can feel her bones being crushed all over again.

_"C'mon, pretty girl, let's go have some fun."_

She can feel her face crunching beneath his fists, feel her body slam to the pavement, feel her ribs snap beneath the force of his kicks, feels the tears run down her cheeks because she had known deep in her soul that she would never be the same again, that she might not even survive it. When she begins to turn, she knows there's no going back to not knowing where he's been, if he's done what he has to someone else. There's only here and now, and when she stares her attacker in the face, she can hear his voice echo through her ears right before she goes completely numb.

_"Nobody talks to me this way, you stupid whore."_

She's trembling, she can feel it as she looks at him. She'd know his face anywhere, even after all the blood and the gore and the memories that she's shoved down so deep that they'll never get out. She hasn't even told Jax that she remembers being dragged from the front bar parking lot to the back, that she can still taste the gravel and feel her muscles give in, let alone the fact that he had been working on getting her battered body naked when he'd spotted someone looking around.

Her stomach lurches, doing somersaults as she takes in the disgusting look of supremacy on his face. He's older than she had thought he had been, which she's sure is courtesy of the tequila. A gold wedding ring is on his hand, the same one that had slammed into her eye socket so hard that he'd nearly shattered it, and she wonders how bad she looks. The scars on his knuckles tell a tale better than any rap sheet ever could.

"You." Her choked out words are feeble but resilient as she grasps the end of the counter with her good hand. Her entire body is threatening to give out on her at this point, as if her systems just know that this is the person that put them in their current injured state.

She wants to scream. She wants to howl out every single thing that he had done to her and let the masses descend upon him like a pack of wild animals, but her lungs are so scorched with anguish that she can't get anything else out. As he nears her, she lists off her injuries in her head. _Broken ribs, dislocated knee, broken eyesocket, broken wrist and fingers and I'm still fucking standing you son of a bitch. _It's a silent mantra that she can get through anything after what he did to her, and yet she nearly collapses when he starts to speak.

"I'm glad I didn't finish the job cause you look mighty fine, baby." His voice makes her skin crawl, and when he reaches out to her frozen features and runs his finger along the curve of her jaw, she nearly vomits on his uniform.

His _prison guard_ uniform.

_\- - - - _x - - - -

Jax is practically skipping when he gets to the F-150, high off of the emotions that are pushing through him like a drug. He's an addict for this, to feel this kind of connection with another human being, and Brooke is one of the best fixes he could've ever gotten his hands on. She makes him feel like he's sixteen again, like he's running around Charming on his bike and the world is at his fingertips. There's something in him that wakes up when he looks at her, something so beautiful and pure that it doesn't even feel possible. He's never had that. Not with Wendy, not with Colette, not even with Tara. There's a brightness in her that brings out the calmest side of him and there's not a chance in hell that he's letting that go because he needs that. He needs her.

He pulls up to the front door with the same blissed out grin on his lips, hopping out and looking through the plate glass window. Brooke is chit chatting with a bag boy, and she might as well be walking on clouds when she flashes her megawatt smile. She's so fucking beautiful that he can't even believe that he gets a chance at her, that he gets to know her. And he's fine with her whole getting to know each other thing. He just _really_ wants to do it with less clothes on. Or no clothes. He's fine with no clothes too.

She's turning to the door when he sees it, when he sees a man approach her. He sees her body go rigid, her hands tremble, the smile on her face drop like a bad habit. The light that's usually in her green eyes is gone, disappearing into the wind as quickly as it had appeared, and Jax starts walking towards her. But when he sees who it is, exactly _who_ this man that's leering at her, circling her like a predator to his prey, his heart nearly stops in his chest.

_"I'm getting released. There's nothing you can do to stop that."_

But it's not the way that he seems to eye her up like a piece of meat that sends him 's not even the look on her face when the asshole goes as far as to reach out to her and run his grimy fingers down her cheek like she's a piece of property to be examined.

_"I'll find out who you are and where you live."_

It's because the last time he'd seen Officer Mackey, he'd organized the death of Tig at the bidding of Damon Pope, and Jax had promised that someday he'd watch him die by his hands.

_"And then I'm gonna kill you."_

Jax doesn't even realize he's running by the time he gets to Brooke to find her stumbling out of the store, her green eyes flooding with tears as they lock eyes. He barely gets to her in time to catch her when her knees give out, when he sees her crumble into the bounds of fear and rage. He knows that she's been threatened, that the shaky truce between black and Sons is falling apart and that she's been a victim of it, and he can't find enough words in the world to apologize to her.

She's sobbing into the worn cut he wears, her tears rolling down the black leather like rivers as she latches her arms around his neck. He can't understand the strangled words, the jumbled mess of syllables that are charred with her fear, and he immediately looks at the bag boy that's trailing behind her expectantly.

"Load the truck." Jax stuffs a fifty dollar bill in the kid's hand before he leans down to cradle the brunette in his arms, picking her up and putting her into the passenger seat without asking what he can do for her, because he knows already. She needs peace, she needs to be away from the pain, she needs the wind in her face and his arms wrapped around her so tight that the world just stops.

She crawls into his lap when he slides into the driver's side of the bench seat, not even giving him any time to ask her what's going on as his arms wrap around her body on instinct. Her heaves and gasps echo in the cab of the truck, and it's finally quiet enough that he speaks. "I'm so sorry I dragged you into this, Brooke. I thought he was gone, I thought they wouldn't come after you, but I was wr-"

"It was _him._"

Her words shatter every idea that he's had in his head, that this was about the club. Jax is wrong, so wrong and he knows it as she pulls back and looks into his eyes with the same broken look that had been in her eyes the night that he'd found her. "It was _him, _Jax. It was him and he _talked_ to me. He _touched_ me." Brooke is gasping for air as her hands fist up the leather of his cut, shaking her head from side to side in a rage he's never seen in her before. "He _touched_ me and he told me he was glad he didn't _kill_ me."

Jax stays quiet for a few beats as she stops crying and gets this look of undisputed violence on her face, trying to process what she's just said. Mackey, a man that had taken a brother from him, had nearly killed Brooke. He'd brutalized her to the point of unrecognizable.

He'd nearly murdered her for the hell of it, and he wants to rip the crooked guard limb from limb until he's screaming for Jax to just let him die.

He's seeing Brooke again, blood matter against her forehead and her body broken. He's hearing her moans of pain, watching them sew her up like a rag doll. He's meeting her for the first time that morning when she'd nearly killed him because this monster put the fear of god in her.

He's seeing red, bright and vivid shades of red waving in his vision like a dare. _Kill him_, the darkness whispers, and Jax can barely keep himself from answer its call. He's careening on the edge of his temper like a roller coaster gone wrong, flying off the tracks and hurdling towards the knife that securely holstered at his side.

And then he looks at Brooke.

Her green and gold flecked eyes pull him back to her, hazy as they are. For all the things he wants to do to Mackey, he somehow reins himself in when he looks into her tear-filled eyes and remembers that this isn't his call.

It's hers.

"Tell me what you need."

It's a simple question to most, but not to someone like him. There are undertones of pure chaos, of destruction, of all of the things that he wants to do to the man that nearly took her from this world.

Brooke's hands twist his cut, shaking her head as she tries to pull in a breath. She looks so torn, like the version of herself before all of this happened is tugging at the new, stronger version. He knows that she wants him to do it, and all she has to do is ask. There's enough darkness in him to swallow her attacker up and devour him whole. All she needs to do is say it, and he'll give it all to her. He'll give her all the bloodshed in the world if it means protecting Brooke and the people she cares about.

But she doesn't say it. She doesn't ask him. Brooke's bottom lip trembles, threatening to give way, but her resolve never breaks. "Take me back to the clubhouse, and let me not think for a while." She murmurs weakly as his hand cups her cheek. She leans into his touch, her good hand lacing through his. It's not a question, and even if it was, he'd give her whatever she could possibly desire. "Let me cook and drink and forget that this ever happened."

"You know what I'm asking, babe." Jax murmurs, leaning his forehead against hers and embedding his hand into her long locks. "He needs to pay for what he did to you."

She shakes her head again, her fingers trailing through his beard. "I won't be the reason you go back there." Brooke whispers. Her eyes are glassy with tears because she knows how short a time it's been since he was shoving meat forks into the heads of the people he had thought might be involved with Tara's death, that he had almost torn his family and his club apart to do it. It hasn't been long since vengeance had been the only thing on his mind.

"Brooke..."

"Jackson Teller, you better take my ass home before I start screaming."

Her words are formidable and strong, everything that he knows she's always been. She's an old lady, he thinks to himself as he gives way to her, kissing her forehead before easing her off of his lap and into the middle of the seat. The resounding thud of the bed gate forces him to drive out of the parking lot because he doesn't want her to have to look at this place any longer, for her to have to swallow back all of the pain and pretend that everything's okay.

"Yes ma'am." Jax replies with a heavy heart as she lays her head on his shoulder. He laces his hand through hers, and he feels the exhale of air that escapes her body. Brooke's entire body relaxes into his side at the drop of a hat, and the load of anger lightens upon his shoulders.

She needs him, he thinks to himself with a smile as he pulls out of the parking lot while Brooke's braced wrist rests on his chest, her fingers running along the curve of his cut. He knows in that moment without any question that he loves her, he loves this woman at his side for all of the things she's done and everything that she's stopped him from doing. And by some grace, the woman he loves actually needs him, and that's all the reassurance in the world that he needs to know that he's doing something right with his life.

_\- - - - _x - - - -

He calls church the second that they walk back into the clubhouse.

Opie's still at the hospital with Rachel, who still hasn't received her discharge papers yet due to a busted stitch that they've promised to fix. Jax is sure that Opie's raising hell with the hospital staff, given that he hasn't spent a single night away from the redhead's room since he had been instructed to stay there with her - despite the fact that his perky blonde wife is waiting at home for him. He's almost positive that his childhood friend and Brooke's feisty traveling partner have something going on, but he's keeping quiet on the subject until he knows for sure.

While Jax files into the chapel with the boys, Brooke sets to work in the kitchen. She'd started cooking back in New York as something to do when she had always been alone, a coping mechanism. For her, cooking a big meal for people she cared about had always been the most cathartic thing she could do for herself. Today is no exception, as she's making a true Southern dinner for the boys, pulled pork and all.

She's chopping up the pork roasts when she hears him yelling in the small room about how "someone had to pay", and she lets the large chef's knife slam against the cutting board for effect. She hates that he's doing this, that he's using this as a reason to go back to his former self. She wants Jax the way he is, battered and bruised and all, and he's dangerously leaning to the man that she's heard Chibs speak of like a mythic monster. Dark, dangerous, volatile, murderous. She's not ready for that side of him, not yet.

She starts chopping the onions as the first round of well seasoned pork begins to brown in the pan. It's a good excuse for why she's crying, and it's enough of a reason for her to just let the tears flow. She doesn't even hear the front door to the club open, openly weeping as she slices up a few Vidalia onions for the sweet slaw and letting her emotions run rampant through her. She breathes in the aromas of the pork and tries to slow it, but there's no stopping the pain that's bubbling up in her chest.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone besides Chucky use this kitchen."

Brooke's head goes on a swivel, finding a man standing in the doorway that she doesn't quite recognize. He's a hispanic man that's a few inches taller than Jax with a graying black hair and beard that he's running his fingers over, probably in his late fifties. His eyes are brown, his smile is kind, but nothing sticks out to her as something that she should remember from Jax's many stories. "I'm sorry, but I don't think we've met." She says with worry in her voice. Her grip on the well sharpened knife tightens.

The old Latino man smiles in the doorway, and it's earnest. "Easy, _mami_. I'm a friend of Jax's. Nero Padilla." He holds his hands up in surrender, walking into the kitchen. His hands slide into the pockets of his tan cardigan, but her hold on the makeshift weapon doesn't loosen a muscle when she remembers who he is.

"You're Gemma's boyfriend." Brooke goes back to slicing the onion, the sound of her chops still as loud as can be. "I doubt she'll want you near me after last week's incident. You might want to keep moving along." She says tartly before reaching over and turning the chopped up roast pieces with a satisfying sizzle.

Nero laughs gently, taking a few steps into the kitchen. "_Calma_, _chiquita_. Gemma can be a little hot, but she's nothing to be worried about. She means well." He tries to explain, but they both know that's not even the half of it.

Brooke picks the knife up and balances it in her hand, pointing it directly at his chest. Thinking of the old bitch that may or may not have killed Jax's wife doesn't exactly make her want to bake cookies and build friendships. "Gemma shot my best friend because she wouldn't let her walk in on Jax and I in bed together. Rachel's now been through two surgeries, the first to remove the bullet and the second to take out her spleen after it ruptured spontaneously." Brooke slams the knife down into the onion for her final cut, her hazel eyes glimmering with rage. If she could, she'd tear the old bat limb from limb just for what she's done to Rachel, let alone Jax.

Nero shifts from side to side. He's trying to find the right words, and Brooke wonders for a moment how often he has to defend the Teller matriarch's insane behavior. "Like I said, Gemma can be temperamental."

"Temperamental is having a loud disagreement. She shot someone just for getting in her way. She's fucking unhinged is what she is." She snarls, her gaze narrowed. She'll go to the mat if she has to because there's not a single person in the world who can tell her that Gemma Teller-Morrow is a decent human being.

"Which is probably why she and I aren't really feelin' each other anymore." He leans over the pan as she starts to violently chop up the cabbage for the sweet slaw. Nero slides in at her side without so much as another word when she gives him a look of approval, and she wonders if it's because of Jax that people are like this with her. Cautious about what they do, careful not to upset her. She supposes that having a flirtation with the club president has its perks.

"I've heard about you, you know. You're famous in this club. The one they saved, the fighter."

She laughs because she's never pictured herself as a fighter, not in a very, _very _long time. "Oh yeah? What else do the boys say about me when I'm not looking?" Brooke stops chopping, not wanting to take off any of her fingers in a blind rage if it's not something that she wants to hear.

"That you're the one he's all _enamorado_ with. They call you _la guerrera_, the warrior, cause nobody thought you'd make it through the night and somehow you're here."

Brooke blushes fifty different shades of red, smirking as she puts the cabbage into a big metal bowl on the side. She flips the meat one more time to make sure that it's fully browned, avoiding the subject as much as possible. "Why didn't the two of you stay together?" She asks softly, desperate to change the subject back to him. She needs a little breather from her drama with Jax, given that his audible yells can still be heard from chapel.

But the way Nero's face darkens, she knows that it's not just about Gemma. It's never just about one thing with the Teller family, she's found. There's always something hiding in a closet just waiting to jump out at her, some deep dark secret that holds their world together at the seams.

"Jax made a decision that I wasn't on board with. We haven't moved past it yet." Nero grimaces as she pulls the pan off of the stove and dumps the contents into a nearby slow cooker. She's trying to keep herself busy, keep her hands moving so she doesn't throttle him for more information. The whole point of getting to know Jax is letting him open up to her, not forcing him to by interrogating his friends.

Brooke stays quiet for a few beats before mumbling something that sort of sounds like an okay, continuing on about her cooking in an effort to distance herself from the conversation. It doesn't take long for the doors to swing open to church, her loud and rowdy bikers - because they're "her's", she's decided since she's making an effort to become Jax's old lady - make their way out of the chapel to various areas of the clubhouse.

She can feel him because she sees him, feel his blue eyes pierce her with his icy stare. Brooke doesn't even need to turn around to know he's there in the kitchen doorway, watching her with that intense yet bemused face. She doesn't bother to, and he sidles up to her like the protective man that she knows him to be.

Jax's hand slips onto her lower back, looking down at the food as she focuses on making the chimichurri. She'd learned how to make it when they'd been further south and she throws it on practically everything, she figures the boys will probably like it. "You good here, babe?" He murmurs into her ear, and she knows he's not asking about the food when he reassuringly presses a gentle kiss into her golden waves. Nero makes him nervous for some reason, and she's sure it's not because of Gemma.

Brooke doesn't look up from the food, restraining herself from asking each and every question that's running through her head. _What decision? Had it been Jax's fault? Did he see Nero as the replacement for his father? Is your mom actually a black widow or just the incarnate of Satan?_

Instead, she settles on something much more simple with a nod and the slice of of her knife against the chile peppers in front of her. "I could use an extra hand for the slow cooker. Whoever's available."

Jax nods, his thumb tracing circles over her lower back. His gaze moves to Nero, who's patiently waiting in the corner for him, before he starts bellowing out to the guys. "Yo, I need two guys to help Brooke wit-" He yells across the clubhouse, but Chibs and Happy appear in the kitchen before anyone can so much as reply to her.

"I believe Happy 'n I need some li'l hen time. You boys go sort out your business, and we'll help her with wha'ever she's whippin' up for us." Chibs says with a wink in her direction and practically shoves Jax out of the way to get next to her. She's so grateful for their presence that she nearly cries with joy, leaning into the Scotsman as he plants a kiss on her cheek.

Brooke finally looks at Jax, smiling softly as Happy jumps up to sit on the counter. "I'll have Happy come out and get you if I need anything." She promises, and all the rest of the things she wants to say feed into her loving gaze. _I'm alright, be safe, I'm right here if you need me._ She turns her gaze to the Hispanic gangster across the kitchen, the same small smile on her lips. "It was nice to meet you, Nero."

Nero smiles. "It was nice to meet you too, _chiquita_."

Jax eyes Nero warily before give him a nod of some sort, but not before leaning down and giving her a quick peck on the lips. With that, the two of them are gone, stepping behind the club for what she can only imagine to be a very heated discussion.

She sighs heavily, gazing at him as they walk out the back door. "Should I be concerned?" Brooke asks to no one in particular before turning back to the task at hand.

By surprise, it's the ever stoic Happy that places his hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. He's got this. And if he doesn't, I do." He rasps out in his gravelly voice, and she breathes a little easier knowing that the tattooed bear of a biker is watching out for the man that she adores. "This shit smells good, Ma. Where'd a girl like you learn how to cook?"

Brooke shoots him a look that could kill, dangerously pointing the knife at the supplies to the large slow cooker whilst she glares. "I'm going to choose to take that as a compliment, but just for that you get to take that monstrosity outside."

Chibs laughs heartily while Happy struggles with the belligerent slow cooker, eventually forcing Rat to help him move it outside so it doesn't heat up the kitchen too much. "You are gon' to make a fine old lady, li'l hen. Here for a month, and you're orderin' around the most orniest of men and cookin' up a right feast." He says with a grin as he surveys the counter. Even with the various items she's already used, it's still covered in groceries. "Wha' exactly are you plannin' to make us?"

She briskly dices a few cloves of garlic. "Pulled pork sandwiches with chimichurri sauce and sweet slaw, shrimp and grits, fried green tomatoes and okra, collard greens and cornbread." Brooke's tone is very matter of fact, despite the fact that she only has six hours to pull it all together. "And for dessert, I'm making peach cobbler and apple pie."

His jaw is dropped when she looks up to meet his surprised gaze, and she can't help but giggle when he slides an arm around her waist and tugs her to his side. "I think I speak for ev'ry man in this club when I say...leave him, leave Jackie Boy and run away with me, beauty of mine." Chibs says with a laugh. "Now, give me the absolute easiest task tha' I cannot fuck up."

Brooke smiles with delight, handing him the knife and a few packages of tomatoes that have yet to turn red. "Start chopping sweetheart."

_\- - - - _x - - - -

It's anything but cordial when Jax and Nero get outside. They haven't spoken since Tara's funeral, and there's been no reason to. He and Gemma were done due to the fact that Jax had ordered Juice to kill the psycho kid's mom, and Nero had thrown a decent right hook at him. It's not worth it to fight with him anymore, he tells him. They're business partners. He may respect Nero, but there's something that he's hiding from Jax and he knows it.

"Your girl is..." Nero sighs, smiling softly. "She seems good for you, _mano_."

Jax looks towards the door, picturing Brooke at the stove. She's probably doing what she does best and bossing the boys around, a fact only reaffirmed when he sees Rat and Happy carry out the slow cooker to the front of the club and hook it all up. "Haven't seen you in a minute." He mutters, shaking off the unspoken words. _Haven't seen you since you stopped sleeping with my mother. _Jax grimaces. The last thing he wants is that image in his head.

"I had to handle some shit in Norco with Arcadio's family."

The tension sets in so thick that you could cut it with a butter knife. After all, Arcadio had been Nero's cousin, right up until he'd shot him in the driveway of the cabin when he'd been trying to get his girl out.

The girl, Darvany, who Jax had then had Juice pump full of smack and smother.

"That shit's settled, bro. You need to let it go." Jax growls through gritted teeth. He can just barely hear Brooke's laughter wafting from the kitchen. "I have bigger shit to deal with now."

"Like that prison guard that killed Tig?" Nero shoots back. "That was months ago, _cabron_, and now I hear you fuckin' yelling about how he needs to pay? _Escuchame,_ ain't no more blood need to be shed."

"You don't know _shit_ about my world or my goddamn decisions. I'll kill however many people I need to because that guard is the reason why Brooke nearly fucking died. He's the one that beat the shit out of her in that bar parking lot, so I'll do whatever the fuck I please!" He yells in his friend's face, unable to control himself. All he can see is Mackey's leering gaze on Brooke, feel her sobs rack her body as he holds her, hear the sound of her shattered voice saying that it had been him who had beaten her to a pulp.

"_Mira_, Jax! You can't burn the world down just because you want to see it happen, shit doesn't work that way!"

Jax's hand moves before his mouth can, a mean right cross flying out and slamming into Nero's face. He's worried that he broke the old man's jaw, but Nero isn't as old as he plays out to be. Jax goes stumbling back when a jab smacks into his nose, and then he sees red. He charges at top speed, sending Nero into the nearest wall with a resounding crunch while he yells wordlessly. The two of them are a flurry of movement and swearing when they go tumbling onto the asphalt.

But Jax doesn't stop. In his mind, it's not Nero. It's Mackey, and he's going to make every since punch count because Brooke won't let him do anything to the man that hurts her. He's so angry at her that he wants to scream, he wants blood to drip from his hands and to know his strength as absolute. He wants to uncage his need for revenge. He wants to let the animal inside run wild, and it's finally time to do it.

They pull apart with the help of Happy and Rat. Jax is still swearing his head off, kicking into the air with all his might as Happy tugs him off of Nero, and with one single sentence, he freezes.

_"Jackson, stop!"_

He turns to find Brooke standing in the doorway to the kitchen, an apron tied at her waist and Chibs holding her back. She's trying to get to him, her eyes desperate and frantic because this isn't what she wants. She doesn't want violence. Brooke wants them to just be happy and get to know each other and be all domestic and shit, but he doesn't know _how_. He's an outlaw and it's what he's good at, and he wonders if she'll ever accept that.

Jax shakes off Happy and takes a step closer to her, but she recoils from him in something short of disgust. He wants her to be gone in that moment, for him to have no one to pull him back in from the edge. And so he looks at her with dead eyes, his gaze cold and ruthless. "I'm fine, relax." He snarls to no one in particular, and he looks at Brooke pleadingly. He needs her not to be here in order to be himself, to be the man that he needs to be with Nero, to be the president of this club. "Just go back inside."

Reluctantly, he watches her turn on her heel and stomp back into the kitchen, Chibs and Happy following close behind. He sighs. Of course she's pissed, she's got every right in the world to be, and when he hears a high pitched wordless yell of anger and the shattering of glass from the kitchen, he knows that he's in for tonight - and not in a good way.

"She calms you, doesn't she?"

He looks over to find Nero smiling through the blood and the bruises, and Jax drags a hand across to wipe the blood off of his face. He hates that Brooke's seen him like this, the unrestrained devil in disguise, but he nods regardless. "She makes me feel...I don't know. Human. She makes me feel human." Jax murmurs before looking over at the man he respects enough to call a father figure. "We good?" He asks expectantly.

Nero raises an eyebrow. "This is how you fix shit?"

Jax grins, shaking his head. "Nah, man. But Brooke's cooking us all dinner and if it tastes half as good as it smells, that should fix fuckin' _anything_."

"You better hope she doesn't poison your food, _mano_."

"Do you _smell_ that kitchen? I don't even care if she does try to kill me, I'm still eating everything."

_\- - - - _x - - - -

"Well, Miss Gattina, it looks like everything is in working order for your discharge now."

Rachel practically screams with delight as she slowly eases up from the bed. She's finally in her own clothes - or should she say, her business clothes - and it feels like she's herself again. A spleen-less and biker guarded version of herself, but herself regardless as she stands up in a pair of Loubouton high heels and a little black sheath dress that'll keep the press from asking questions about where she's been. Brooke had picked out the outfit, no surprise. She had always known what to wear for these kind of catastrophes.

She's rehearsed the line a hundred times since she got word that she would be going home today, even having Opie berate her like the reporters will. She's more than prepared. They were working on a new line and just checked out of the world at a rural retreat. They had gotten into a car accident on their way back to Los Angeles, to which the hospital paperwork is in accordance with thanks to a wad of cash that Opie had given the hospital administrator as a donation for their new cancer wing.

"We'd like to check out immediately." Opie's deep voice practically demands at her side, and the redhead can't help but smirk. He's cleaned up for this, his long brown hair tied up in a bun and his beard freshly trimmed. He'd even come in without his vest on, which had surprised even her. In a simple black shirt and ripped up jeans, he looks like any normal guy off the streets.

Her opinion of him is also getting better every time he gives her a reprieve from this hellhole with a brutally good make out session. Yesterday, he'd been so rough that he'd popped three stitches and the hospital had been forced to keep her an extra day. It had been that good.

The female doctor nods pleasantly, signing the paperwork and handing it to Rachel with a satisfied smile. "Congratulations, Miss Gattina. You've made a speedy recovery!" Her voice is a little too peppy for her liking and she's more than happy to see her bounce out of the room. Why were people so fucking nice in this town? It's starting to creep her out.

"Can't wait to get me back to the clubhouse, can you?" Rachel says with a menacing grin, taking a few slow steps to her purse. Find a button and push. That's her game with him, and she likes it that way. They're not Jax and Brooke, all tormented and lovey dovey. He's still married with dead first wife issues and she's nowhere near close to opening up to anyone. They're not about the talking. They just _really_ need to be locked in a bedroom for a few hours. Or days.

She turns to find Opie standing right in front of her, and it doesn't take more than a second before his lips are crashing against hers in a kiss that's so hot it makes her blood set on fire. Her hands are clawing at his shoulders and his grip on her hips is so tight. Too tight.

_"Fuck!" _Rachel hisses, shoving him backwards. "What are you trying to do, pop my stitches _again_?"

Opie grins like an idiot as he stumbles back, and she's pinned to the wall before she can stop him. Even in her tallest heels, he's got her by a few inches and at least a hundred pounds of solid muscle. "Shut up, you know you like it rough." He murmurs, leaning in to kiss her again.

Before he can, her eyes narrow because there is _nothing_ that will jeopardize her release from this place, and she slaps him with all her might. Opie goes staggering back and this time she is the one that's giving him a Cheshire Cat smile. "And _you_ like it even more." She says before opening up the door to the hall and walking out of her former residence. He's chuckling softly behind her, and suddenly she can't wait to get him back either.

"My truck's out front. I figured that'd be better than them seeing you hop onto a Dyna Wide Glide with a ex-convict." Opie says with a glance towards the front doors, and she gratefully sighs with relief.

She waits until they're right in front of the doors to speak, sliding on a pair of big black sunglasses, "Good, 'cause I'm not wearing any panties under this thing."

Opie's hand that's resting on her lower back bunches up the fabric of her dress and nearly yanks her into the nearest bathroom right then and there, and she can't help the smile that appears on her lips as they walk out of the hospital together, despite the torrential media storm that's about to hit.

_"Rachel, when did you and Brooke Davis become involved with the motorcycle club known as the Sons of Anarchy?"_

_"Was this all a publicity stunt for Lucas Scott's new memoir on his relationship with Miss Davis?"_

_"How long had you and Miss Davis been planning this?"_

The questions come in like tirades as Opie tries to navigate her through the flashing cameras and yelled out questions that become more absurd the deeper they get into the crowd. He's growling and snarling at the paparazzi to get out his way, she's trying to be as graceful as possible, and then the question that she's dreading comes out.

_"Rachel, how do you respond to the allegations that this was insurance fraud for Miss Davis's ten million dollar life insurance policy?"_

Opie doesn't stop pushing through, but Rachel freezes in her tracks. Of _course_ Vicki had cashed that in, that greedy whore. She had known that Brooke was alive through Rachel, who had made the call to Victoria Davis once they had decided to take their show on the road. Rachel takes a deep breath, and plays the role of the media parrot that she's all too often been for Brooke.

"While Miss Davis and I are utterly in debt to the Los Angeles Police Department for their tireless efforts to locate us, we were not aware of any life insurance policy that had been taken out on Miss Davis's life. Miss Davis and I were simply taking some time off from the world in a rural cabin for the last few months and did not think that this would be blown this far out of proportion by the media. We are very grateful for the out pour of love from Brooke's fans, but ask that our privacy be respected while we both heal from our unfortunate car accident. Thank you."

Opie's got her in the truck before they can berate her with anymore questions, peeling out of the hospital parking lot as far as they'd driven in when Chibs had rushed them in. He's quiet as can be and he looks pissed off as all hell, so she doesn't say a word until he finally speaks.

"Do you have any idea how much heat this is gonna put on the club?" Opie's tone is like sandpaper, his rage coming through. He's fiercely protective of his beloved Jax and his stupid club, and she can't help but roll her eyes. "Don't you fucking look at me like that, Rachel. Insurance fraud is criminal charges, which means a trial, which _mean__s _that the club is gonna get put under a fucking microscope."

"It's not like we did it for the money! We didn't even cash that thing in!" She fires back, folding her arms across her chest as she shifts with a wince. "Her mother must have done it. She's the only one besides me that could."

"I cannot fucking believe you two." He seethes.

_Neither can __I, _she thinks to herself as she gazes out the window, praying that the conversation will be dropped so she can get some peace and quiet. "Just drive." Rachel mumbles, squeezing the bridge of her nose to calm the headache that's beginning.

Fucking Brooke and her need to run. It's going to get them all into deep trouble, and she's not sure if she can pull them out of it this time.

_\- - - - _x - - - -

It's down to the wire, but Brooke and the boys get it all done. She's thoroughly outdone herself as she sets up the bar with the food from the kitchen. Everything's covered to keep it nice and hot, as well as to keep the boys' hands out of it. She isn't a fool, she knows how fast all her hard work will disappear because she's that good of a cook. She's even enlisted Rat and Montez to hang up a few signs for Rachel, which had turned into Quinn and Happy running around at her bidding and getting all the food in working order. Every time she so much as touches one of the big steel serving bowls or platters, they erupt in a chorus of swearing and telling her to drop it before she hurts herself. She abides, but only because she finds it adorable.

Rachel and Opie had shown up about twenty minutes before, the two of them muttering about how they needed to check on her stitches in the latter's room before dinner, but they're not fooling her. The smirk on Rachel's lips, the glint in Opie's eyes; Brooke could've seen it from a mile away and still known that the two of them were sleeping together.

Brooke sips a short tumbler of vodka, her second for the afternoon, as she watches the guys run around. She points where she wants things, shifts bowls around and hides the still unbaked dessert in the oven. She wants it warm, which meant waiting until they were about halfway through dinner to start up the thing. It'll be an excuse to walk away from the table if necessary, which she might need with Jax acting the way he has been for the last few hours.

"You okay, li'l hen?" Chibs sidles up to her after the last pan of fried green tomatoes has been set and the room looks like the Food Network exploded in it. The smell is beginning to draw the guys in from all over the club, and she's just waiting on Jax to show up. Everything had been timed for Rachel and Opie's arrival, and it had gone off without a hitch. Right up until Jax had gone all caveman on Nero and decided to start a bloodbath.

Brooke leans into him as he slings an arm around her shoulders, retreating into the safety of her father-figure's arms. "I'm just nervous." It's an admission of weakness, something that she's not fond of. It means that she can be hurt, that the walls are down, and that's the scariest thing in the world for her. "About the dinner, I mean." She recovers cautiously.

Chibs smiles down at her knowingly. "Dinner, aye? Well, this dinner, is it important t'you?"

She curses him for knowing exactly what's going on, but praises him silently for playing along with her. Brooke bites down on her bottom lip, praying it'll keep the tears at bay. "It's the most important thing I've had in my life in a really long time." She nearly whispers, and she feels her heart thunder in her chest because she's not playing around. She's serious about Jax, serious enough to halt all sex until she gets to know him. "But I don't know this dinner's...recipe well enough to know how I should prepare for it."

"With a tough skin and an open heart, m'love." He says softly, wiping at a tear that's fallen from her eye. The Scotsman is endearing as ever as he cups her cheeks and presses a kiss to her forehead. "But you're a mighty good cook, lass. You might just be the best cook this dinner's ever had. And if you wanted to...bake a pie with the dinner, I think your body could handle it."

Brooke raises an eyebrow. "And I would bake a pie..."

"In the buff. Am I making myself clear now, or do I need to tell you tha' it's sex." Chibs says with a wiley grin, and she smacks his chest in response.

Their conversation halts when the door to the clubhouse opens. Jax and Nero saunter in, looking thick as thieves. They've clearly worked out whatever issue seems to be hanging over their heads, but that doesn't make her any less upset. The way Jax had looked when he'd reared back, it hadn't been the man that she knows. It had been the version of him that she's been warned about, the one that craved vengeance and would do anything to get it.

But now, he looks like himself again. He chuckles softly when Nero makes a comment, he hugs some of the guys that have driven in, some that he doesn't recognize. She blatantly avoids his gaze, moving from her spot at the bar and in between Happy and Chibs. It only takes a second for them to see how upset she is, and magically a cigarette and lighter appear at her lips. She breathes in until it scorches her lungs, and she lets the buzz she feels cover up her anger at him for shooing her away like he had.

"You look like a lost puppy dog." Rachel saunters up beside her, plucking the cigarette from her fingers and pulling in a drag of her own. She's trying to be inconspicuous, but the smell of sex is all over her.

Brooke smirks. "At least I'm not missing an organ or have raging sex hair." She counters, taking back her cigarette forcefully. "You and Opie, huh?"

The redhead shrugs, looking over at the man in question. He's on the other side of the room chit chatting with Jax, and it's the first time Brooke's seen the giant smile since she got here. "He's separated from Porn Whore and you left him alone with me for almost a week. What did you expect was going to happen?" Rachel takes a sip from her glass of straight Grey Goose. "Besides, you're just jealous. Opie and I don't have to take things slow because there are no feelings involved. Just really, _really_ hot sex."

"Excuse me for wanting to get to know Jax before jumping into bed with him." Brooke growls, glaring at her. "Besides, we have more important things to worry about, like that busted nose of his."

Happy interrupts, leaning over the bar like a child waiting for Christmas morning. "Can we eat now, Ma?" His voice is playful as the grin spreads on his lips, and Brooke nods with a simple yes. She's about to head back into the kitchen to start on the dessert when a booming voice stops her in her tracks.

"Hold up, guys."

She turns to find her biker - because he's hers, even though she's ridiculously upset with him - yelling out in the crowd of men. Jax takes a few steps torward to the head of the table, his gaze focused solely on Brooke. She feels her skin rise with a chill as he begins to speak, and she can't seem to move a muscle. "I'd like to thank the two women that dropped in our laps. For some of us, literally." He raises his glass towards Opie, who smirks in the corner with his arm slung around the back of Rachel's chair.

She's waiting for him to say something, for him to saying anything with meaning to her. The tension is palpable as he walks over to Brooke, his half moon grin playing on his lips. She's trying to stay strong, to not cave to the way that his gaze makes a certain lustful heat pool in her belly and her skin set on fire. "And you all owe Brooke one big ass thank you for the dinner that she cooked for all of us tonight, so enjoy yourselves cause it's on her dime tonight." Cheers erupt like she's just invented the wheel, and she can't help the pride that sings in her veins.

But he's not done. Jax walks up to her, getting up close and personal with her. Tentatively, her hand reaches out to him, brushing them over the newly forming bruises around his left eye. "How adorable. We match now." She mutters, and he grins from ear to ear. "I'm still pissed at you." Brooke insists as her hands drops, and she even takes a step back for good measure.

But as his hands wind around her waist and tug her up into his arms, she knows that she can't win this. She's worried that his world will consume the bond that they have, that someday the violence will spill at her feet, but she decides that's a fight for another time when he leans down and kisses her so deep that her cheeks flush pink and the entire room explodes in cheering once again.

The dinner goes off without a problem, the boys moaning every so often about how good of a cook she is. By the end of it, Brooke's received six marriage proposals and all the praise in the world from the club, and even Rachel comments on how good it feels to have a normal home cooked meal. When she has Chibs bring out the desserts, they're practically eating out of her hand.

But the man of the hour is quiet at her side. Every so often, Jax brings her good hand to his lips and kisses the skin softly. He seems at ease now with a relaxed smile on his lips and casual conversation with Opie and Chibs, but she knows that something's brewing. He wants retaliation on the guard, and she can't say that she doesn't want him to.

But contrary to what the club may desire, she doesn't want the bastard dead. If she'd have it her way, he'd be beaten and broken like she was, and to suffer with his actions for the rest of his life. She'd match every injury, every broken bone, every gash in her skin. She'd make his life hell, and then come back every so every to scare the shit out of him so he would repeat Brooke's fate on some poor and unsuspecting woman.

But that's not how it works with the club. He's not just the man that had attacked her, he's the man that organized the death of their brother. She has no right to stop them, no matter how much sway peach cobbler gets her, and yet she longs to. Brooke wishes that he wouldn't, if only for her sake. She doesn't want that guilt on her conscience.

When all the dishes are cleaned up and the food's been put away, when Brooke has kissed Rachel goodbye and told Opie to take care of her girl, when the club is silent, she quietly goes back to the bedroom. Jax had been smoking at the bar with Chibs, speaking in the hushed voice that she knows means trouble, and Brooke wants no part of the conversation. She's just getting ready to hop into the shower, wanting to wash the awful day away, when she hears him from the doorway.

"It was really amazing, what you did tonight. The boys adore you."

His gracious words are quiet from his position in the doorway, and she smiles as she takes off the brace on her wrist. She loves the mobility that she gets to have now, even if there is a little less movement in the joint since its injury. "I'm glad they liked it." Brooke murmurs as she grabs a towel, turning to head into the bathroom. Her anger has settled back in after the busy day, and she just needs some time alone.

But Jax is wary of her, and he should be. "Are you pissed at me or somethin', babe? I thought we were good." He takes a few more steps into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. "I know the fight with Nero today scared you, but that's just how we handle things around here."

Brooke nearly bites off her lip as she tries to hold back the words, but they come out anyway as she turns to look at him. "I heard you in church today. Calling for Mackey's head on a platter. I _told_ you I didn't want that. I don't want anymore pain bec-"

"Because he beat the shit out of you?" Jax bluntly interrupts, his fists clenched. "This may be hard to believe, but you don't make all the calls here. I do. It's my club, and Mackey's _my_ problem. He had Tig killed as brutally as possible in front of me, and you have no idea what that did to this club. You have no idea what it did to me!"

"No, because you won't _tell _me!" Brooke advances on him, snapping at him viciously. She's a violent and snarling animal who cannot be caged, and she doesn't even bother to hold back her acidic words as she prepares to bite his head off. "You don't open up to me! You don't tell me anything unless I'm high off my ass or half asleep! You had this entire fucked up life before me that I know next to nothing about and you want me to just put blind faith in you? Don't you dare expect that out of me after what I've been through!"

_"And how dare you expect me to do nothing when you almost died in my goddamn arms!"_

The tortured howl rips through the air, reverberating off of the walls so loud that Brooke has to bite down on her bottom lip to keep herself from openly sobbing. She keeps forgetting that, that it had been Jax who had found her that night. She does and she doesn't, she supposes. She remembers white sneakers rushing towards her, the sound of Jax's voice when he had yelled at Opie something, the smell of bike grease on his hands and the feeling of his breath settling onto her neck. She barely remembers his face that night. Everything had been in shades of red from the blood that had matted her face and poured from her body, and everything had been so blurry.

She doesn't remember what she must have looked like lying on the pavement with a halo of blood surrounding her dark hair, with her bashed in face and broken bones. She doesn't remember that it had only been a few short months since he'd found his wife in the exact same position on their kitchen floor.

Guilt rushes in like a dam breaking upon her heart, and she instinctively reaches out for Jax. He takes two steps back, and she knows that she's gone too far, that they both have. He's vulnerable and she's angry and it's a dangerous combination at best.

Jax's eyes flood with tears, her biker the ever emotional being as he rakes a hand through his slicked back hair. His voice is fragile, shaky, and so unlike him that she has to do a double take when he begins to speak. "You were dying, Brooke. You were dying and I was yelling for help and there was such a small chance that you were gonna survive. They had you on that table, stitched you up to high heaven and prayed that you'd be okay. They didn't even think that you were going to make it through the night. Mackey almost took you from me before I even knew that I could feel this way about you, and I..." He trails off as his calloused hand wipes at his wet eyes, shaking his head once more. He can't even find the words, and it's in that moment that she knows what he feels for her isn't just some fleeting infatuation.

Jax loves her, loves her enough to want to kill for her, and Brooke had never once thought for a moment that in her life someone would ever have the capacity to love her that much. It's tragic and depraved and a hundred different kinds of twisted, but it's the most loved she's ever felt in her entire life.

She reaches out for him again and he doesn't pull away this time. Brooke's dainty hands settle on either side of his face, silently running through the rough stubble on his jawline. "I know, babe. I know." She whispers, closing her eyes and savoring the natural scent of his skin. "I'm just not this person. I'm not Gemma, Jax. I'm not going to tell you to murder someone just because I say so, I won't start to manipulate you like she has."

Jax's hands run up her back, sliding over the nape of her neck and into her hair. He forces her to look up at him as he barely pulls away, his hands almost massaging her head as he does so. "You're nothing like her. Nothing. You're telling me _not_ to do this, despite the fact that you know how much the club needs this. That's more than Gemma ever has. That's more than Tara ever did. For fuck's sake, she all but set me up to kill a guy from her past."

_Tara. _Her name rings out like the exorcism of a ghost in the air. Brooke's eyes fill with tears as her fingers trace the curve of his jaw, because she wants more than anything to fill the space that her death has left in his soul. Tara haunts his thoughts, his dreams, and it's no secret to her. Jax dies a little death every night that he dreams of her and wakes up to find Brooke shaking him awake, and all she wants to do is take his pain away. "You need this, don't you?" She utters with such an ache in her chest that it nearly swallows her whole. "You need revenge for Tig, for me, and I can't stop you."

Jax nods, stroking her hair gently. "We all do. This club, me, even you." He murmurs, and before she can even utter a word of disagreement, he fills the space with his argument. "I sleep right next to you, Brooke. I'm there when you wake up screaming and throwing your arms around like you're a rag doll. I think the only thing that'll stop that is him being wiped off the face of this earth."

His words are a catalyst to her thoughts, everything and nothing falling together in that moment as he holds her in his arms. Brooke feels her entire body relax into him, tears slipping down her cheeks. Every inch of her body just knows that he's right, that his solution of vengeance is the only thing that can give her peace. She can't remember the last time she slept through the night without painkillers, and each and every time her body would jerk awake with the visage of the man who brutalized her. There's nothing left for her to do, for her to work through. Therapy won't do anything and she can't ask Jax for more. He's giving her all of his energy and love, and she's worried that if she takes anymore, there'll be nothing left of him for his sons.

"Promise me you'll be careful." Her voice breaks, her truest fear betraying her. Being without Jax would be a slow and painful death that she isn't prepared for.

His lips silence her in a sweet and gentle kiss, the kind that no one would expect from a bad ass biker. There are no words left. The only reassurance she needs is Jax's arms wrapping around her and his lips devouring her whole. She wants to say it, that she loves him all the more for this and that she can't live without him, but the only thing that she finds is her hands sliding up beneath his shirt and pulling his shirt over his head. He pulls back for a moment, looking down at her, and all she can give him is a gentle smile.

It's like breathing, the way that he knows what Brooke needs in that moment. His hands slide along her back, carefully avoiding bruised ribs and skin that's yet to be healed. Jax doesn't speak, doesn't breathe a word. He lets his touch take over the conversation ask he cups her cheeks and kisses her so hard that her lips deliciously bruise, and she nearly lets go of all restraint as her hands slide along his bare chest. She pulls back ever so slowly to look at the scars that her fingers bump over, finding the tattoos that she's often examined late at night when he's drifted into a coma like sleep. His son's name is prominently inked over his heart, and Brooke just barely touches the lettering of it.

"What's he like?" Brooke asks breathlessly, looking up at him expectantly. It's the first that she's asked about his sons, and she can't help but wonder about the imaginary children that she's dreamed up in her head.

Jax raises an eyebrow. "Abel?" He asks, and she nods in response. His hands are still wandering over her lower back, keeping her tight to him. "He's quiet, rebellious. I can't even tell you how many times Wendy's been called to the school because he's started fights. He hit a kid with a lunchbox the other day." He pauses, and she watches as he swallows back a lump in his throat. "When he was born, his mom had been shooting up so much that he was addicted to crank. He was kidnapped when he wasn't even a year old. Right from my kitchen. I barely got him back. He's been through hell, and I keep wondering if his rage is a product of all of it."

Her heart aches for him as her free hand runs along the side of his head, soothing his past demons. Part of her is terrified that if she goes down this rabbit hole with him she may never find her way out, but the part of her that is grateful for him opening up keeps her on the path forward. They're getting somewhere further than his issues with his mother. He's letting Brooke know him.

She wanders to the embellished lettering on his left forearm, repeating the behavior until Jax gets the point. "Thomas is just a baby. But he looks like Tara more than me. Dark hair, blue eyes." He smiles, and it makes her heart light up. "He's got this sense of peace around him, never cries. I was in Stockton when he was born, locked up on gunrunning charges. But that's...that's a really long story."

She nods, her hand sliding to the creased scar on his abdomen. She traces it lightly with her fingers, but she examines this one. It's not surgical, she knows that from the jagged lines of the cut. Brooke looks up at him curiously, and he answers without any hesitation.

"A little present from the Russians in Stockton. Makes me look like a bad ass, right?" Jax smirks, and she knows immediately from the glint of darkness in his eyes that he must have taken his revenge with a side of blood. Her stomach flips, but she swallows her fear and keeps on going.

Brooke smiles right back at him, but it falls when her hand stops on the gravestone on the opposite arm. She knows who it's for, that John Teller's spirit is inked in Jax's skin, but she's more than surprised when he takes her hand and moves it away. It's a simple silent gesture, stating that his father is not a topic yet on the table.

She nods, her hand moving back to Abel's name. "You should see them more, you know. Instead of being here with me." She's sidestepping his bottled up memories like the professional she is as she reaches for the towel, already planning her escape route. It's their own little dance, but she doesn't have the energy for it tonight. "In fact, you should go there tonight. I'm just going to shower and sleep, I'm worthlessly tired." Brooke begins to move towards the bathroom, her sinking heart dragging her there, and he grabs her hand to stop her.

"Why don't you sleep at my place tonight."

Brooke's heart practically stops in her chest. His house is off limits, for both of them. It's the place where his children have been raised, where he'd fallen in love with Tara, where he'd found his wife dead on the kitchen floor. It's never been a blip on her radar, and now, her mind is running wild with what Jax's home might look like. She turns to face him, his hand holding hers tightly. "You want me...to come home. With you. Where your boys are." She says slowly. Her words are deliberate but unsure. In this moment, he's a loaded gun. She never knows when he's going to go off and shut her out again.

Jax's half moon smile tugs at his lips as he nods, tugging her to him. His arms wrap around her waist delicately before he kisses her softly. "Yeah. I mean, they're bound to be at Wendy's for the night. You could meet them in the morning when she drops them off."

This time, her heart _soars_. "Are you sure?" Brooke says with concern, her hands resting on his biceps. "I mean, I don't want to push you. These are your kids and I know ho-"

"I don't think I've ever had to push this hard to get somebody to get into bed with me. My ego's a little bruised, so now you're _definitely_ coming home with me." Jax interrupts with a smirk, and she doesn't even know how they're going to make it out of this room if he keeps going the way that he is. He pulls away from her, reluctant at best, and tosses his shirt back on. "C'mon, babe. What's one little night gonna do? We sleep together anyway, and if I had it my way we'd be doing _way_ more than sleeping..."

She giggles as he leans in and nuzzles her neck, the bristles of his beard tickling her sensitive skin, and she gives into him willingly. "Fine, one night, but keep your mangy paws to yourself." Brooke counters.

He practically jumps for joy, and she can't believe how insanely happy just seeing him smile makes her. Fuck being cautious, she tells herself. She's falling in love with Jax Teller, and she wants him. They deserve to be happy, she tells herself as he takes her hand and leads her downstairs with that ridiculous grin on his lips. They deserve a little good in their lives, even if it's only for a night.

Who is she kidding? Any night with Jax is a happy night for her, even if all they do is cuddle and talk.

Brooke's just praying he doesn't get too bored of her before they even get started.

_\- - - - _x - - - -

He wakes up somewhere around three in the morning to the sound of keys jiggling in the front door.

Jax and Brooke lay side by side in the bed he used to share with Tara, a notion that seems more dramatic than it actually is. Of course, she'd made him change every sheet on the perfectly made bed before she had dared to go near it, but he knows that's just how Brooke is. She doesn't want to replace his wife, she just doesn't want to constantly be haunted by her memory.

She'd fallen asleep almost instantly after getting into bed. She'd wrapped up in one of his old SOA t-shirts after wiping off what little makeup she'd had on, mumbling about how her bruise still hadn't faded around her eye. Jax, on the other hand, loves her like this. Brooke looks gorgeous no matter what, but when it's just before she's about to crawl in bed with him, there's something so special about it. She's stripped down to her natural beauty, just like the days after her attack. She's all his when she's like this, her head nestled into the crook of his neck and her hand on his bare chest over his heart. Her leg runs over his hips, his arms encircle her, and they are two jagged puzzle pieces that fit as one beneath the warmth of the blankets.

They've shifted by the time he wakes him, Jax's body protectively spooning hers as Brooke's breathing remains steady. She's deep in a dream filled slumber, her first without a nightmare since he's met her, and he doesn't bother to wake her up when he pulls his body out from around hers. He just grabs his glock from its home on the nightstand and shuts the door behind him, because there are only three people who have a key to his house.

The first is Wendy, but he knows for a fact that she's at her apartment with Abel and Thomas.

The second is Opie, but he's with Rachel at her new hotel room relieving his pent up sexual frustration.

The third, he really does not want coming through that door with Brooke in the next room. Or at all for that matter.

Jax draws down on the door as it slowly opens, and he nearly shoots when he sees Gemma on the other side out of pure spite.

"For fuck's sake, Mom." He mutters angrily as she looks at him wide eyed and bewildered. "It's way too late for you to be doing this."

His mother leans in the doorway, looking at him hopefully. Her neck is covered in long finger like bruises, bruises that he's responsible for. But somehow this time, he doesn't care. Jax doesn't give a shit that she's in pain, because Brooke's best friend had nearly died because of her irresponsible and out of line behavior. She deserves far more than a few contusions on the neck, and he nearly gives her the payment for her actions in lead before he lowers the glock to his side.

"I thought you'd be at the club, with _her_." Gemma bitterly mumbles as she remains where she is. Her age is starting to settle on her face, the crow's feet at her eyes deeper and the scar on her chest only becoming more apparent as she fast approaches her sixties. Bitter doesn't suit her anymore. It just makes her more of a worthless hag.

Jax's grip on the gun tightens at the intonation of her words, immediately glancing down the hall to make sure that the door is still shut. He gets his affirmation from the shut door, but his grip doesn't slack on the gun. Not even for a moment. He can only imagine how this looks for Gemma, with him in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, but he doesn't care. She can think whatever she damn well pleases. "_Brooke_ is here, and she's asleep so please, just do us both a favor and get the hell out."

His mother snorts, sidling into the house and tossing her purse onto the nearby table before shutting the door. She's quiet about it, but the smirk on her face betrays her facade. "You think Fashion Barbie could hurt me? Please." She sneers at him in disgust. She folds her arms across her chest, rising to the assumed challenge. "What's she gonna do, kill me with her cast?"

"Better than a meat fork." Jax snarls through gritted teeth. He's about to raise his gun again and just pull the trigger because it would solve so many problems in his life, in Brooke's life. In _their_ life.

He doesn't want it to be a repeat of his relationship with Tara. Falling in love, building a family, taking over the club, going to prison, and then their lives had unravelled. Tara had tried to take the boys, he had turned himself into Patterson, and then his wife had wound up dead on the kitchen floor. He wants a fresh start with her, but that seems to be impossible with Gemma in the picture.

A potentially murderous Gemma who has no goddamn boundaries.

Gemma's eyes narrow dangerously, and he watches in a somewhat helpless state as she pulls out a cigarette and lights it, wishing that she wouldn't stay for it. "Look, baby. I know you've got your suspicions about what happened to Tara, but I swear on those grandbabies of mine that I wasn't involved."

She's so matter of fact about it that he almost wants to believe her, to reach out for his mother. But he doesn't. Jax remains where he is, hand on his gun and heart covered in ice. He doesn't want to look at her anymore, doesn't want to hear her explanations, and so he does the only thing he can. He walks over to the door, opens it wide, and glares at his mother with the ferocity he never thought he'd have with her.

"Get out of my house." Jax growls dangerously. "Before I throw you out."

Gemma nods silently, grabbing her purse as she takes a drag off of her cigarette. "When you're done with the fresh pussy and you realize you fucked up, don't come whining to me." She snarls in his face.

With that, she's gone, a whirlwind of nicotine and cheap perfume hitting him as the door slams. It's her final punch, her final stoking of the fire, and he breathes a bit easier when he walks back down the hall to his bedroom. Jax stands in the doorway for a moment, his blue eyes lingering over Brooke's sleeping body. She's still passed out, her body wrapped around a pillow that he's instantly wishing was him. Her long waves have fallen around her face like a make shift crown, her chest moving in short and shallow breaths. She looks serene, peaceful, and he just wants to remember her like this forever.

"Hey, what are you doing over there?" Brooke's awake, just barely, her soft mumble bringing him back to the moment as her heavy eyelids barely stay open.

Jax smiles as he moves back over to her, sliding into the bed once more. He doesn't say anything, staying silent as her body curves to his and her legs wrap around his hips. He just breathes a little deeper and a little easier when he's in her arms. His hand runs over her hair as she falls back asleep, and as her breathing steadies once more, so does Jax. He's asleep in minutes, deeper and more restful than he's had in months.

So quickly, in fact, that he doesn't see Gemma linger at her car, watching them through the nearby bedroom window. He doesn't see her scheming, doesn't see her rage, doesn't see the brutal force building within her. He doesn't see her get in her Cadillac and scream at the top of her lungs, slamming her hands against the steering wheel.

He doesn't see the beginning of the war that's about to come as his lips press to Brooke's forehead, a content sigh slipping from his lips, and that's exactly how his dear mother wants it.


End file.
